An Angel in the Abyss
by SymphonyinA
Summary: Fearful that Christine would attempt to abscond with Raoul before his opera is performed, Erik abducts her at Perros. She wakes up in his domain and struggles to free herself from his obsession, but finds herself trapped. Dark, musical-based, on temporary hiatus
1. Chapter 1: Captive

"Raoul?" I called weakly, my voice echoing in the darkness.

I sat upright, feeling the hard fabric under me, and wondered what sofa I was lying on... in the dark... with musty air about me... and the distant sound of dripping...

I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling over. I reached my hands out in front of me to find walls, and from those, a door. My trembling hands met stone, and I began to walk around the rounded corners of the room, searching frantically for an exit. After bumping into a couple pieces of furniture, I found a doorway into a little room, which seemed to be a bathroom, but I quickly left this, distraught as I continued my search.

Oh, but there was nothing beneath my hands save solid stone! I was trapped!

I nearly gave a cry of despair, and my heart began to pound frantically in my chest. Oh, how had he taken me here? Where was he? And _why_ had he taken me? I had agreed to do his opera, agreed to perform as he wished, and then, tormented by the thought of Raoul planning his murder, I had fled to my father's grave. I had thought perhaps I would find answers there, enlightenment of some sort. All I had found was more _pain._ And _him. He_ had followed me there, filled my head with his voice and dragged me down here under its spell... And then he must have drugged me! That was why I was unsteady.

"Raoul," I sobbed, collapsing against the wall. "Why didn't we leave like you said?"

My tears had only just begun to flow when light pierced the abyss through a hidden door. Half-blinded, I pressed myself against the wall as a dark figure approached me.

My vision steadied, and I wished immediately to regain my full senses, or to simply be standing, for my captor towered over me, a veritable Angel of Death.

Was he going to kill me now?

He addressed me, calmly and gently, "Would you like a little light, Christine?"

I stared at him a moment before nodding blankly, and he lit a few candles about the room. My eyes wandered to the open doorway, and it filled me with sudden excitement and dread. Could I escape through there?

It was worth risking. I slid against the wall, inching across the cold floor. Bit by bit, I approached the exit as my captor continued bringing light to the room, which I now found was a gloomy, but prettily furnished little bedroom. The bed (strangely placed near the center) was covered in translucent white curtains, which were still, as there was no breeze. Beneath it was a large, rich Persian carpet. I seemed to have bumped into a good many things before: a closet, a dresser, a nightstand, a bookshelf, a desk, and a basket of knitting. Everything was painted white or composed of light colors, which was rather odd, considering how dark it was. The room was a cavern, albeit a small one, and rose a ways above my head. About the walls were candlesticks, which made the tomb flicker and our shadows sway on the stone surrounding us, which was solid, and occasionally marred by veins and niches.

Still taking this in, I continued shifting across the floor. As soon as I reached the doorway, the opening slammed shut, and I gasped.

"Were you going to swim across the lake?" he chuckled. Then he sighed, "You must stay in here until I can trust you not to wander off and drown."

I buried my head in my knees and began to cry, for there was nothing else to be done. He had me cornered on all sides and I felt entirely helpless.

His footsteps approached me, and he kneeled down before tilting up my chin with his hand.

"Who are those tears for, may I ask?" he asked, but I could not tell if he was mocking me or being honest.

"M-myself," I replied.

He removed his hand from my chin and pulled out a little handkerchief from his pocket. I stared at him with tears in my eyes, and he moved as if to wipe them away for me, but I accepted the white fabric from his hand before he could do so, and promptly drowned my sobs with it.

He rose and went away from me, and from the sound of it, he was rearranging a few things atop the dresser, which was white and decorated at the seams with silver paint.

"Are you finished now?" He asked softly as my crying died down.

I looked over at him and nodded, rising shakily to return the handkerchief to him. He reached out to take it from me, and placed both his hands upon mine, causing me to pull away as if burned.

The unmasked part of his face hardened.

"Am I so disgusting that I may not touch your hands?" He demanded.

I averted my eyes, but stood my ground, waiting for him to succumb to rage.

"Or is it because you have given your hands, your delicate little hands, to another, and would not have me defiling them?" He accused. "Well, why?... Why?!"

I trembled, but managed to reply weakly, "You have murdered with those hands."

"And you think I would murder you?" He asked, his tone dark as he approached me, making me back up against the wall and slip my fingertips into its seams. "You think I would hurt you?"

I turned my head away from him, wincing with fright. He reached out to stroke my cheek, but swiftly removed his hand, his irritation increasing.

"Just because you tore off my mask and saw what hideousness lay underneath you think I would _hurt you_?" He asked, pained.

I raised my eyes to his, "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? Do I need to remind you of my face?"

I shook my head violently.

"And that is why you recoil," he said sorrowfully, then his voice hardened. "That is why you shall remain here now, with me."

"You don't..." I squeaked, struggling to keep my composure, "own-"

"You? I do own you, Christine, though I would not call it that. But you are mine... Is that such a terrible thing, though? Why do you resist having someone care for you, comfort you, _love_ you? I have been your dearest friend, yet now I am your enemy, simply because I am no longer a beautiful angel. And yet I gave you your voice and you gave me your soul... And though I am not the Devil, though you may think it, I have your soul as my own. And I'm very fond of it and have no desire to give it back."

"You _deceived_ me-"

"I comforted you," he retorted. "I gave you wings."

"And now you've locked me up," I trembled out. "What use are wings to me down here?"

"What use indeed?" he said coldly, as if he understood something I did not. Then he sighed irritably, "I tire of this conversation. Bathe and dress and I will bring you dinner. If you are in urgent need of anything, see that gold tassel by the bed? Pull gently on it, and I'll come to assist you."

He turned to leave, and I went over to him, falling to my knees in desperation, failing to restrain my tears. As soon as he noticed me on the floor, he stepped back as if I was venomous.

"Please don't keep me here," I begged, knowing it was worthless. "Please. Do you want me to berate myself? Then I was stupid and naive and... oh please let me go! I am begging you here, is that what you want? To have me hanging on a thread for you to toy with, on my knees at your feet? I am begging you! I don't want to be down here, in the dark, and I don't... I don't love you or want to be yours. I'm sorry for whatever I've done that may have hurt you, but you must let me go... You have to, if you love me, as you say. I'll die down here. I can't bear it down here!"

He broke eye contact, and his voice was strained as he replied, "Bathe and dress... But, if you must know, have no intention of keeping you here for long, and I do not want you to beg."

The opening shut behind him, locking me inside. I stared at it a moment in confusion, digesting his words.

What did he mean? Here long? Would he take me somewhere else? Or did he mean to kill me? But he couldn't mean to kill me... he couldn't... but he had killed others, why not me? Oh, I was going to die! He had taken me down here to play with me and then throw me away, that was all.

I continued crying, hardly able to breathe in my panic. When I regained myself, comforted by the thought that at least heaven would await me upon my death, and that it would likely not be prolonged, I hastened to obey him. Perhaps he would change his mind if I kept myself obedient and tried not to protest too much.

The question I could not cease asking was: did he really love me? And yet I didn't want him to love me! I had been in countless operas and I knew what came of men and their thwarted love, especially men like my captor who were given to violent fits of passion.

I found my way into the bathroom, my face still plastered with tears. The place had running water, with a real water closet, too. Frightened by the luxury, and his proximity, I bathed quickly, just enough for it to be evident that I had. I then proceeded to see what horrible things he had purchased for my use. The closet contained some pretty dresses, and I found an empty jewelry box on the dresser, a few pairs of little shoes in the drawers, and silk stockings, and everything was delicate and expensive and soft and-

My tears regained their full strength. Was I a doll now? Perhaps he did just want that, a little plaything to toy with and dress and belittle.

I reeled at my fears. Dread settled in my stomach, making me nauseated. Had he lied entirely when he told me he was the Angel of Music? Was it all an act, a lie, just to ensnare me, and not at all out of love or kindness? I had thought over that countless times before, but now... Now it simply _hurt._ How could he stomach knowing what he had done to me unless he either didn't realize it or didn't see me as an equal being?

As I dressed, thinking over it all, I suddenly realized that there was not a single mirror in the room. Concerned at how I would look presentable enough, for I needed to please him, I searched fruitlessly for something reflective with which to use. Upon finding nothing, I came to the conclusion that he must be tempted to look at himself, and so he had removed that temptation.

Was he afraid of his own face, too?

I thought to curl my hair into its typical ringlets, but he had provided a good many pretty little combs and pins for me to put it up with. So I did this instead, hoping I looked decent. He would take my effort into account.

For a while, I remained alone in that room, my curiosity burnt out. I had no desire to see what was in the mahogany desk in the corner, nor the unexplored corners of the dresser, and perhaps if I did not explore the place up and down he would not tease me for it.

As I was sitting on the edge of the bed, weeping at intervals, a knock on the side of the wall met my ears. I looked up from my tear-soaked hands to find him coming in through the door with a prettily laid-out dinner on a tray, and proceeded to set them on the desk. My heart begged me to dart out the open doorway, but my mind made me remain.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked as he set the tray on my desk.

"N-no..." I replied, then changed my mind. "Yes."

"How kind of you," he told me, and I could not tell if he was mocking me or not.

He gestured for me to sit and eat, but he went to the side of the room where a bookshelf was. It had a few novels in it, nice poems and stories for a young lady to be reading. I had eyed them earlier, but not taken one.

I had no appetite, no matter how prettily he had set out my dinner, and he took note of this quickly and returned to my side.

"You're not hungry, then?" he asked.

"No," I replied quietly.

"What would you like to do, then?"

"What is there to do, down here?"

"A surprising amount. I wouldn't let you be bored while you are here with me. You could read, knit, draw, or we could play music. But that would require my trust that you would not go off and drown yourself while we are playing."

The way he spoke was not condescending... exactly. It was like he was trying to be kind and gentle, but it just sounded as if he were speaking to a child.

"But what will you do?" I asked, fidgeting with my hands in my skirts. "If I knit or read?"

"Sit," he replied simply. "I rarely have company, you see."

"It must be very lonely down here," I said softly.

"Very lonely..." he repeated, pensive.

"I think... I think I'll knit for a while."

"The basket is over there," he told me, gesturing to a white basket overflowing with yarn and a couple pairs of needles.

I nodded meekly as I sat myself down with a ball of blue yarn and some silver knitting needles. The act of creating something calmed me, but as I glanced up for a moment, I realized that my captor was watching me, almost in curiosity. He had turned the desk chair around for himself and was simply staring. I stiffened and let the knitting fall into my lap.

"I don't understand," I told him, pained, choosing my words with care.

"Have you forgotten how to knit?" he replied, making light of my meaning.

"What do you want?"

He was still for a moment before replying, "I want you to forget my face, that is all."

"And if I can't... what then?"

"What indeed," he said darkly. "I'm not going to kill you, as you seem to think, and I'm not going to hurt you. Have I designed this room to be a prison, or a torture chamber? No. I have made it a bedroom, with everything you could ever need or want. Why, then, would I kill you, as I have spent so much time and effort securing your comfort down here? Yes, it is dark, but perhaps if you spend enough time in it, you will see that it is of equal value as the light... Return to your knitting, unless you want to rest now?"

I shook my head, "I'll knit."

I returned to it, my fingers clumsy from trembling. A sock began to form, but it was misshapen due to dropped stitches. I pulled it off the needle and unraveled it, keeping my eyes on my work and trying to forget the eyes boring into me from across the room. The eyes of a man, a stranger whom I had spoken to for months under the guise of a celestial being.

After another failed sock, my eyelids were growing heavy, and my captor was, as before, observant of me, and asked me whether I wished to go to bed. Crying must have exhausted me. I agreed, trying to control my fright, but it seemed he was being honest. He told me he would give me a tonic to help me sleep well down here.

I did not like the idea of that, but what choice did I have? He went off to prepare it. I dressed in a lace nightgown he had bought for me and perched myself at the edge of my bed, twirling my hair about my finger.

He reentered and handed me a cup that smelled of herbs, but with a stronger odor than tea. Then, after I drank it with reluctance, he bade me goodnight and left.

I slipped underneath the soft sheets of the bed, but I would have preferred a bed of needles to it. Then I shut my eyes and the tonic he had given me made me drift off to sleep without taking another glance into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Candles

I woke up shivering and breathless, but unable to remember whatever nightmare I had experienced. It took me a moment to register the fact that I was not in my own apartment, in my own bed, in comfort and safety, and that I had not left any nightmare at all.

I hastened to wash and dress, thinking perhaps routine would calm me. I used the porcelain washbasin in the bathroom, but upon rinsing my face with the cool water, I began to tremble uncontrollably. Barely containing my tears, I rushed over to the closet to dress, and searched for the blue dress I had worn to Perros. Only, it was absent. Confused, I looked through the dresses again. And again. And once more for good measure.

Had I misplaced it?

I moaned and pressed my head against the wall, a few hot tears trickling down my cheeks. Oh, he had taken it away! I had nothing of my own at all now.

I cried until I could no more, then cried again when my mind turned to Raoul. Oh, I just wanted Raoul! I wanted him to hold me and kiss my forehead and lie to me that everything would be alright... I wanted to smile and nod at his ignorance as to my situation, what I felt for my angel, my captor now. For I did feel something, and I hated that I did. I hated how his music made me fill with indecent emotions and how he loved to toy with my mind and bend it to his will.

For one day I just wanted to be myself again. Perhaps that was why I loved Raoul, because I could be myself with him and feel loved. He listened to me, was kind, was everything I had ever wanted in a fiancé. He was so adorable in his imperfections, and how small they were in comparison.

There was none of that with my angel, none at all, and when he sang to me, he could simply make me do as he pleased, be drawn to him in ecstasy. But he had murdered, manipulated, blackmailed, and... and when he sang I forgot. I forgot all his errs and let the music envelop me and fill my soul.

But his music was also freedom. How could that be, though? His music bound me to him and made me do as he wished, and yet... And yet when it filled my head there was such lightness in my soul, and I felt free as a bird. My voice was my spirit, and when I sang with him, it soared. Without his accompaniment, I never flew as high. I could feel a hollow space in my heart when I sang alone, but with him, once my head had cleared, I felt I had never been happier in my entire life.

But how could two vastly different feelings combine in such a manner? How could I despise and adore the same thing? Music could not both be my chains and my liberty.

Crying while thinking had exhausted me, and I realized that the undesirable feeling in my stomach was due to hunger and not only sorrow. But when would he come in?

I glanced to the tassel he had gestured to the previous day. Didn't he understand how ironic it was for me to call him like a servant, when I was the slave? Even so, I pulled it gently, then let it go, a little wary of it.

How long would it take him to come? And what time was it? Was he even awake?

I tucked my knees up to my chest, huddled up on the sofa. I considered occupying myself with a task of some sort, or a book, but my eyes glazed over as they stared at the wall, and I was quite content with that activity. My thoughts faded away, and I only focused on the blurry outline of the room, blinking every so often.

Then the hidden door opened, and I looked up from where I sat, still fearful of his intentions. My captor came over to me, the unmasked part of his face relaxed, and a hand at his side rose ever so slightly, as if with the intent to touch me, but it faltered and fell back. Perhaps my frightened expression had stayed it.

"What do you need?" He asked kindly.

"Breakfast," I replied quietly. "Please."

"Of course..." he said, then he gestured oddly to me. "Why are you sitting like that?"

"I'm cold," I lied.

"You're frightened."

I set my head upon my knees, "I'm upset."

"I should assume so..." he told me, then moved swiftly to another subject, "How do you like your dresses?"

"I... would like them if they were mine."

"They are yours. I bought them for you."

I shut my eyes for a moment, "What time is it?"

"Around seven."

"Can I see?"

"A watch can lie as well as I can," he retorted. "But I will check for you."

He removed a perfectly normal pocket watch from his jacket, and for some reason, it puzzled me. I blinked at him in confusion, for why should he own such a thing? A phantom, a murderer, owning a pocket watch? And it was overlaid in gold, with an indecipherable engraving on the back, like an heirloom. But how on earth would he have anything of value from his parents, when he had more than hinted to having suffered abuse by their hands?

His eyes met mine for a moment, and he removed the watch from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Fine, indulge your curiosity," he told me. "Do you think it's pretty?"

I swallowed my indignation at being talked to like a child, and replied, "Yes... but what does it say on the back?"

"'No one.'"

"What do you mean?"

"It says 'nikto,' meaning 'no one' in Russian." He said, seeming pleased at it as if it were a clever joke.

"But it's so faded... how long have you had it?"

"Five years, perhaps longer."

"Do you speak Russian, then?"

"I speak many languages."

"Oh..." I said softly.

"What have you been doing all morning?" He inquired.

"Nothing."

"At least you did not cry, then."

He waited for a moment, and I wished he would just go bring my breakfast and stop talking.

"But you did cry," he informed me. "I can see the dried tears on your cheeks."

"You knew I would cry."

"Perhaps it is best you do, so that you can run out of them." He replied. "Let me get your breakfast for you... Do you have a preference?"

"Porridge... with jam... if you have that."

"Of course. But if you want jam with it, I need to come back and see you not sulking around. Occupy yourself."

He turned to leave, and I felt pained at his words. Was he going to manipulate me, then, into doing as he pleased for simple things?

He had already left by the time I considered whether I wanted jam that much. But it was not much at all, really. He only wanted me to sit normally and read a book, feign normalcy.

So I picked out a book with a green cover, not reading its title, and found it to be a collection of fairytales, as one would have for children. I set it back among the others, staring at the spines, even running my fingers down them, but could find nothing that had any appeal, nor did I feel like exerting my mind any further than it had been this morning.

I took out the knitting and began the second sock, which was already turning out far more even and well-shaped than the other. My mind again wandered, and I found myself wondering whether my captor had a plan sorted out, and if he had, what horrible events would come to pass from it.

Unless... Unless he meant to kill Raoul?

But he wouldn't... he _couldn't._ And besides, wouldn't he have done that already?

I just wanted to know Raoul was safe from harm. My darling Raoul, my childhood friend, oh, what was he doing now, while I was captive down here? Knowing him, something brave and rash. What a dear he was, but still so much a boy that I feared he would find himself in the hands of my captor.

Oh, I couldn't bear the thought!

My captor returned with a tray holding a China bowl with porridge and jam inside it. Before he could even set it down at my desk I had exclaimed, "Have you hurt Raoul? Will you hurt him?"

He slammed the tray onto the desk and rounded on me, causing me to gasp and press myself back against the sofa cushions.

"Do not," he said darkly, his pointer finger drawing attention to his words, "mention the patron. Do not say his name or mention him... But I have no care for the boy... He ought to find a mistress soon and lose all interest in you. So there is no point in killing him."

"Mistress? He doesn't take mistresses-"

He laughed at me, "What an ingenue you are, my dear Christine! Come eat your porridge."

"Do you promise not to hurt-?"

"I promise nothing!" He retorted. "Now eat your breakfast."

I shuffled over to the desk, trembling all over, silent. My eyes were welling up with tears, but I kept draining them, and during this struggle, I somehow managed to eat all of my porridge. Upon finishing, I turned to my captor, who had not moved a muscle.

"Are you done?" He asked.

I nodded meekly.

"Can I trust you to come play music with me now?"

I averted my eyes, "I don't want to play music."

"What do you mean?" He demanded, somewhat smiling in disbelief. "Not want to play music?"

"Not down here."

"Then I'll sing for you instead-"

"No," I moaned. "Please don't."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to."

"Is my voice yours to control?"

"Is mine?" I trembled out.

"Why are you so sharp this morning? I will sing, or you may come sing with me. Which do you prefer?"

"I don't... want music right now."

"Fine," he said simply.

Then he went over to my candles and began to promptly blow them out. I cried out against this, and he came over to me.

"Do not contradict me," he commanded, and I thought I caught a hint of pain in his voice. "I can control every aspect of your life down here... Don't try me."

I nodded hastily, fearful.

"Good." He sighed. "Now come out of here and we shall sing."

I followed him outside the room and found not the cavernous lair I had remembered earlier, but a dark tunnel. I wanted someone with me, anyone but my captor... my captor who had once been my angel...

He led me through a short maze, and I tried to memorize how to get through, but he seemed to be weaving in and out purposefully to confuse me. Indeed, I felt we were going in circles. Then we were suddenly in the center of the lair, with all the familiar furnishings from my nightmares, including the bride doll. She terrified me, for I could not tell whether her resemblance to me was intentional or not.

Perhaps he saw me shy away as we went over to the organ, because he addressed me.

"Does that scare you?" He asked.

"N-no," I replied. "Yes, a little."

"Let me cover it up, then."

He took the black sheet, which was silken in nature, and flung it over the shattered mirror to cover the doll. I was greatly relieved that she was out of sight, though also embarrassed for being frightened of a doll.

"Come here, Christine," he said kindly, gesturing the organ.

I followed, going up the two stone steps to the sort of pedestal holding up the organ keys. The pipes were behind it, glinting yellow in the candlelight.

I glanced out upon the lake, which was mostly closed off by a portcullis, though a shallow puddle trickled in about an arm's width or so.

"Have you heard me play?" He asked.

"I can't remember."

"How much can you remember?"

"Bits and pieces... They kind of blend together like watercolors."

"You're a painter now?" He teased.

"No... I tried it as a girl, but I was terrible."

"You can do whatever you like down here."

"Not whatever."

"Whatever I say," he told me. "Come stand over here."

He handed me some music and sat down at the organ. I feared my voice would come out a tremulous whisper, and I had barely looked through the first few bars when he started. The place was enveloped by the music, and soon he glanced over at me as my part began.

To my incredible surprise, it was an exceptionally easy piece that fit my voice in every aspect. The melody was like one long, lovely sigh. I felt euphoria fill me, and so ecstatic was I to be back with music, that I forgot myself entirely, forgot my fears, my anger, they dissolved into beautiful song.

I shut my eyes for the repeated parts, so I could hear without distraction, and as I opened them I realized that my angel had not been paying any attention to the notes he was playing. He was simply staring at me in awe, and in meeting his eyes my voice flickered out and I stepped back, nearly tripping down the steps.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant, and he rushed over to me as I caught myself, horrified.

"Are you alright?" He exclaimed, forgetting himself entirely as he held my face. "You're fine?"

I nodded shakily, and he sighed in relief, regaining his composure and releasing me.

"You'll become accustomed to seeing me," he said, perhaps mostly to himself. "Then you won't be frightened... Do you want to keep singing?"

"I want to go back," I told him, my eyes averted.

"You were enjoying yourself so much-"

"Please, I want to go back."

"You like that room?" He accused.

"No, I... I don't know. I want to be alone."

"You do?"

I shivered at his strange tone, "I don't mind if you stay... I just want to lie down is all."

"Come here, then. I'll take you back, my dear."

Don't call me that... You don't deserve to call me that. You lied to me. You manipulated me! You've taken everything away! My angel, my love, my very soul, and I... I...

I don't hate you... I don't hate you.

How I wish I could say those words without fear.


	3. Chapter 3: Darkness

"Are you afraid of the dark?" My captor asked me, as if that were a perfectly normal way to begin a conversation.

I had been knitting peacefully for quite a while, and this had come out of nowhere.

"You know I am," I replied, looking over at him.

"But why?" he inquired.

I continued my knitting. "One can't see in the dark."

"Do you always want to see?"

"Well, yes," I averted my eyes for a moment before glancing back up. "Anything could be hiding in the dark. Anything at all."

"So it is not darkness itself that you fear, but what it hides?"

"No. It is darkness... I simply want to know what is in front of me, and that conceals it. The things inside are never particularly frightening, just unknown, which makes them frightening. I want to know what is there."

He thought for a moment again. "And if I took away all the light in this room, what would you do?"

I trembled. "You wouldn't do that."

"Not for no reason. But what would you do?"

"What do you think? I would cry."

"Would you give anything for the light to come back?"

"Not... a-anything."

"But what?"

I shut my eyes harshly for a moment. "Any of my belongings, I suppose."

"Anything else?"

"Why do you ask these things?" I demanded weakly.

"It's enlightening. I understand your fears better now."

"Will you put out the light, then?"

"No, my dear, of course not," he said, failing to reassure me. "You have nothing to fear down here with me, not if you're well-behaved. And you've always been so kind and good, haven't you? You haven't even asked for anything yet, like a polite little guest. But you don't have to be like that down here, about asking for things. What would you like? I could buy you dresses, jewelry, flowers, chocolates... Most anything inanimate and tangible."

I looked down at the knitting my lap, then over at him, wondering whether or not he would allow me the one thing I had strangely desired for the longest time.

"The monkey music box," I told him softly.

I was certain he would refuse, but instead he tilted his head in surprise. He then rose to retrieve it for me. The hidden door shut behind him as he left, and I blinked in confusion before picking up my knitting again to occupy myself.

He returned rather quickly, seeming oddly pleased with himself, and set it on my nightstand. It was such a strange oddity, but the tune it played was lovely and comforting. The monkey was made of painted lead, its eyes black glass, and these seemed slightly tilted to give it an almost a sad look. The cymbals were bright and golden, and the creature even had its own Persian robes. The box it sat upon was dark wood with gold about the edges, and it contained what played the music.

"How do I make it play?" I asked.

"Wind it up," he told me. "That's what the handle is there for... but, of course, it plays by its own sometimes. I've toyed with it too much and seemed to have given it its own will. But also, if you want, I can make it play without need of that."

He swept his hand in front of it, and I let out a gasp that seemed to amuse him when it began to play. The hands at my mouth fell slowly back to my sides as the music continued, and I stared at it, intrigued.

"Do you like my tricks?" he asked as the tune ceased.

"No," I replied honestly.

He chuckled. "None of them? Do they frighten you?"

"Yes."

The light in his eyes faded. "They shouldn't... Do you want to see another? It won't frighten you."

I shook my head. "I don't want to see."

"If you insist... How is your knitting?"

"It's... fine."

He took out his watch. "I ought to leave soon. Can I trust you to be good?"

"I'm locked in a room," I replied miserably. "What can I do wrong?"

"What indeed... You're much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, more than anyone gives you credit for. I assume you can find a way to free yourself, then promptly fall into a trap or have the siren eat you, no matter what precautions I have taken."

"What?" I squeaked. "What's the siren?"

"I don't know myself. She resides in the darkest parts of the lake... I'll be back in a few hours, then we can have dinner."

"Will you... tell me when I don't have to be down here anymore?" I asked shakily.

"It depends. It very much depends. But you won't last more than a few months down here."

"Last?"

"You would go insane being locked up in the darkness. It's terrible enough you're here now."

"And you?"

"I'm accustomed to it," he replied simply. "Do you need anything before I go...? Oh, don't cry, why are you crying?"

Why _was_ I crying? There were too many reasons.

"Did I frighten you with the siren?" he asked, his harsh demeanor giving way to true concern and pain. "Come now, my dear, you mustn't cry like this, with no reason... Do you want something? Is that why you cry?"

"I want to go h-home," I said tearfully, shying away as he attempted to touch me. "That's a-all I want."

I looked up at him. His figure was blurry through the welled up tears in my eyes. I couldn't tell what he was feeling, whether he was feeling, unless he spoke.

And he did.

"I wish that very much as well," he told me, sadly, then his voice turned cold. "It's a shame, what you did, or else you would be at home this very moment."

He turned to leave, and I exclaimed, "Is it my fault that I loved?"

His hands tightened sharply into fists as he turned to me, and I pressed myself further into the sofa cushions, my tears retreating back into my eyes. However, he remained standing a distance away from me.

"I don't think you did love," he told me coldly, each word calculated. "I'll let you speak about the patron now so long as you do not avoid my questions, understand...? Tell me, why do you love him?"

Was this some sort of cruel trick?

"You need to reply," he said bitterly. "Don't you want to talk about your _love_?"

"What if I say something you don't like?" I asked.

"We'll find out. You're honest, reply honestly. Why do you love the patron?"

"I knew him as a child," I said softly.

"And?"

"He was with me with my father. We were very close friends, in fact, he was really my only friend, I suppose..."

"Surely not just that."

"Why do you mock me?" I asked, pained.

"I don't. Continue."

"He's kind to me... and he comforts me... He looks after me when I'm frightened, and he never lets me be alone. I don't fear him at all. He wants to protect me and... and he loves me."

"Now describe him to me. What does he look like?"

"You've seen him-"

"I don't have your eyes. Describe him."

I rose angrily, my voice trembling, "What do you want me to say? He's handsome, yes, I think he's the handsomest man I've ever seen and I love him! He has eyes like the sea and golden blonde hair and I think he is wonderful! And I'm sorry I don't love you, but it's not because of your face-"

"Then why?" he demanded sharply. "Sit down. Why?"

I averted my eyes. "I don't want to sit."

He took a step towards me, and I forgot my resolve entirely and hastened to return to the sofa, feeling very broken up inside.

"Why," he said slowly, sharply, "do you not... love me?"

"You murdered Buquet," I trembled out. "You've blackmailed the managers... ruined poor Carlotta-"

He laughed, "Say that again, poor Carlotta? From the girl who called her an evil woman and finally confronted her for her lack of respect for your voice?"

"I was wrong to do that. She's as frightened as I-"

"Stop speaking of her," he snapped. "It's bad enough I have to hear her sing your part now everyday, the part written precisely for you, not a crow who can hit a few notes... Tell me, what else have I done to be unworthy of your love?"

I put my head in my hands for a moment, taking a breath, then looked up at him again. Oh, why did he have to be so tall? I was trembling before a bear. He could pick me up and toss me around with relative ease, and I... I could do nothing. I had no more power than that covered up doll.

"Why am I unworthy?" he demanded again.

"What more is there to say?" I said painfully. "You lied to me, manipulated me, and you've killed a man. How can I love a murderer?"

"Wasn't the patron in the navy for some time?" he asked strangely.

"What? Yes, h-he was. But what does that-?"

"What's the difference?" he interrupted. "In war you can murder as you please, and diseases are not locked behind bars or beheaded, are they? And they kill multitudes... What is one man, besides? Buquet was not a young man, he would have died eventually of his own foolishness or some disease."

"You admit it, then?"

"Admit what? I didn't murder him."

My forehead knitted. "But you just said-"

"He murdered himself. He went around talking about the phantom after being warned by Madame Giry on multiple occasions. It was his own fault he wasn't more careful up there in the flies."

"I know you killed him. I heard you l-laugh."

"Well, it _was_ rather humorous, wasn't it?" he smirked.

"No," I told him, shaking my head in horror. "He died. A man died, angel."

"You called me angel again. Why call a murderer an angel?"

"Because the murderer has not told me his name."

"Call me what you please."

"Erik," I replied readily.

His half-masked face lit in amusement. "What a strange choice. Why that name?"

"It suits you."

"See, you are more intelligent than you give yourself for. It's remarkable, your intuition."

"What do you mean?" I pleaded. "What are you on about now?"

"Why, Erik is my name. My real name."

"You're making fun of me again," I moaned.

"No, no, in all honesty. It's a funny coincidence, is it not?"

"Prove it."

He chuckled, "My word or nothing..." He glanced at his watch and exhaled through his teeth. "I'm late now. Oh well, no one expects ghosts to have watches, do they?... I'll be back in a few hours. Behave and I'll bring something down from your dressing room for you."

"I don't want anything from my dressing room," I lied.

"If you insist."

He left, shutting the door behind him with a wave of his hand. I fell upon the sofa, broken from the way he had spoken, and began to sob. What miserable existence was this, being toyed around with and frightened? Always frightened...

I should have just continued playing music with him. He was so kind when we played music, like an angel...

When I had cried my fill, I decided I ought to see what he meant when he said I could free myself. What ingenuity did this require? I wanted to show him some form of spite. It was worth it to have that moment of satisfaction.

I had to find out how to open the door.

It had nearly invisible seams in the stone wall, so there was no way of prying it open. It moved out and then around, on a hinge of some sort... It moved out and around...

Was there a way to push it open?

I pressed my hands up against it, with all my might shoved against the cold surface, but, of course, it did not budge. So I tried another angle... Nothing. Knowing that I was being ridiculous, I tried the other side of the hidden door. There was the grating of rough stone.

It went out! It went out barely at all, but I was so excited and surprised by my success that I attempted again. I kept pushing and shoving and I began to realize that the door was actually quite thin, and also how strange it was that I could force it open.

Oh, was this to torment me? Did he want me to run around and get lost in the darkness, then beg for him to rescue me? Why would he have set this up so poorly if not?

Then I realized my grave error. I had it now pushed out enough to be noticeable, and I couldn't shut it again. It only went out, so I had to either hope he didn't notice, make up some excuse, or continue in my endeavor.

"If he's going to treat me like a child," I mumbled, "then I shall disobey like a child. After all, I'm curious, aren't I?"

I took the chair from the desk and propped it up against the door, trembling at my own daring. But I wanted to do this, I needed to do this. And besides, the siren was in the lake. I wouldn't be in the lake... But what about traps? Would those kill me? Surely not... but he was a murderer...

The door was already almost pushed out entirely, so there was no changing my mind. I gave one last shove and it swung out on its hinge, making a screeching metallic sound.

I stared at the gaping hole in surprise, then put my hands over my ears as a loud, hideous noise ricocheted through the maze of tunnels. It sounded very much like a bird was being torn to pieces and squawking horribly. Oh, it made me sick...

Terrified by this, I went back into the room. What if I did die?

Maybe it would be best...

"No," I moaned, letting out a sob. "He'll let me go eventually..."

The noise ceased, and a terrible silence fell over the place. I took a breath and a candle before venturing back out into the darkness.

I didn't truly know what I meant to prove. Perhaps I only wanted to do something myself, for it was exhilarating to be figuring out how to free myself. Unless... was I thinking about this wrong? Was this a way not to amuse him, but to amuse me? Then why had he frightened me about it?

That was when I heard the door to the room slam shut, and in my surprise, I dropped my candle, which was instantly suffocated. I inhaled sharply in fright as the darkness drowned me. I was blind and entirely alone.

"I'm not so intelligent at all," I said aloud, sitting down against the wall and burying my head in my skirts. "Not at all..."


	4. Chapter 4: Broken

There is no more terrifying sound than silence. One waits for it to break, and one waits, and one waits, and normally it obliges. But not for me.

The dripping that I had heard sometimes seemed to have shut off. There was no breeze whistling through the tunnel, though it was still far colder than in my room, and I had to bury my hands in my skirts to keep them warm.

At first I feared rats. I feared a logical thing that could likely frighten me. Then I feared Erik, which was also logical. He could come rage at me and lock me away for disobeying. Oh, but then I felt myself going mad as my imagination formed demons in the darkness! The inky air twisted into faces with lopsided grins and gruesome features, dancing about me in gleeful torment.

I told myself I was safe; I lied to myself that nothing would come hurt me. But I had seen enough of my captor to know he held terrible secrets down there. For all I knew, there were actually demons. This was hell.

As I wrestled with my cruel mind, trying to convince myself that there was nothing there, I felt there was someone, _something_ , watching me. Hoping and fearing that it was my captor, I called out for him multiple times, but he never answered. I thought he must be watching, then, entertained by my helplessness, and I began to sob in despair at this.

 _My angel..._

My eyes had only become accustomed enough that I could see my freezing hands once I held them to my face. Other than that, there was nothing. The silence and solitude filled my heart until it was unbearable, until I wanted to ram my head against the walls just to make a sound.

That was when I remembered my voice. How could I have forgotten my voice? My songs? I could calm myself. I had been afraid to sing before, perhaps thinking the demons would be drawn to it, but now I embraced my gift. Perhaps it would repel my fears, not bring them closer in the knowledge that I was there.

I freed myself from the silence with every soft Swedish lullaby and happy opera tune I could remember. They comforted me enough that I stopped trembling, but then I heard a noise beside me. A scuttling of little feet-

I screamed, and the poor creature, mouse or rat, pitter-pattered away in equal fright as my own. I concentrated on breathing: in, out, in, out... in out in out in-

"Oh, no," I exhaled, horrified.

In my terror, I had neglected to stay near the wall, and now I had no idea where the door was! I put my head in my hands for a moment, then reached out in front of myself, and I walked forward... and walked forward...

And I kept walking. Bewildered, I tried to find a wall beside me, but they evaded me. At last I rested my hands against one, but it was riddled with holes, so I quickly recoiled for fear of some other vermin.

I continued, half-dazed by fright, humming to myself to help, though it did little. I had one arm wrapped about myself, one outstretched, and I took step after cautious step. The darkness was opaque here. I heard another scuffling of little feet, and I screamed from fright, darting away from the noise. One foot found an empty abyss, and I cried out as I tumbled inside, my hands trying to grasp the black air.

I landed on my leg, and it twisted beneath me unnaturally with a _snap!_ that echoed off the stone walls. Sobbing in agony, for I had never broken any bones before, I suddenly heard a metallic noise, like gears and chains. Blinking in the darkness, I wondered what terrible machine was after me, what trap I had fallen into, and I almost wished I had landed on my head and died.

My leg lay behind me, and I flattened myself on the stone floor, then I realized that the metallic sound was of a ceiling covered in spikes, lowering. The darkness was more translucent here, it seemed, and I shrieked in seeing it, then noticed that some of the long, thin spears were broken off, as if someone had been trapped and-

Avoiding my nausea and the black spots dissolving my vision, I slid toward these on my back, crying out in pain. The spears lowered slowly as I found my way into the spot with broken ends, but my twisted leg, which felt as if aflame, I neglected. The steel tips hit the floor, and one of the broken ends grazed my cheek..

My vision grew dark, and I fainted away from pain and terror.

 _You're alive, you're alive._

 _Shh, drink this._

 _I'm just putting on new bandages._

 _Christine? Christine, it's only me._

 _Have you left me now?_

 _Shh, listen, isn't that lovely?_

 _My little Christine, my poor Christine..._

 _Take another sip, just one more._

 _Dont sit up, take this._

 _Are you any better?_

 _Have you gone mad now?_

 _No, no, there's no angel. Only me._

 _Your father is not here, child. Only me._

 _There is no Raoul. I'm here._

 _Just sleep some more, a little longer._

I opened my eyes and found myself in a room from my nightmares, the one I had slept in after being taken down there the first time. Then I stared, stunned, at my leg, which was thoroughly bandaged and in a splint, propped up on a short pile of pillows. It throbbed dully, and as I tried to sit up, a searing pain ran up it, causing me to cry out.

My captor came in with a cup of some sort of liquid, and I shoved this away as he tried to tip it to my lips.

"What's- what's-?" I stammered.

"Does it hurt still?" he asked, his voice pained as the uncovered half of his face.

I winced and nodded, sobbing, "It's broken-"

"It'll mend... Drink this, my dear, it will make you sleep."

"I'm hungry," I whined.

"Of course, of course," he said, rushing off.

How long had a been unconscious? A few hours? But it didn't seem to hurt terribly enough for it to have only been a few hours... And I could remember bits and pieces...

He returned with some bread and cheese and a bowl of soup.

"How long have I been unconscious?" I asked, wincing as he propped me upright with pillows.

The unmasked part of his face was glistening with tears, though he did not acknowledge them.

He croaked out, "Three days... You woke up sometimes, but I had you..." he took a breath to keep his voice from fracturing, "drugged, and you kept raving mad about... The pain made you delirious, and the shock of your ordeal."

"It hurts..." I whimpered, not referring merely to my leg.

"I know, I know. I have broken many myself... Eat a little, then you can sleep."

I tipped the bowl to my lips. It was rather salty, but I was too hungry to care. Before I could start on the bread, I felt myself slipping away.

He must have put something in the soup.

When I woke up again, he fed and drugged me anew, and this continued for days. I was disorientated by it, unaware what time it was, what day, the world spinning around me. Sometimes I asked for him to stop, lied that my leg didn't hurt so much, but he never believed me. When I was not asleep, I was delirious from whatever he was giving me, and this made me more tractable, as he could pick me up if needed and not have to listen to my protests. He did attempt to preserve my modesty, to my surprise, but I did wake up in a nightgown, for comfort, and could remember having him assist me delicately and respectfully, turning away and such, even though there was not much of a point in it.

At last he decided that I was well enough to remain awake, perhaps after examining my leg while I slept.

"How long until it heals?" I asked, relieved to be fully conscious.

"It depends," he said gently. "I would assume three months, but you fell directly onto it. It was broken only in one place, but you needn't concern yourself with the details, I'll care for you."

"Why?" I asked, my voice soft. "Why did you set that up? How could you make such a thing?"

He stiffened, then sat down in a chair, burying his head in his hands for a moment. He glanced back up at me, his features twisted in agony.

"Can you imagine the position that I'm in?" he demanded. "Down here is all I have. It is my right to protect myself, but damn me for it... Do you know what it is to love you and be despised in return? And then to take you down here, and have you disobey and nearly kill yourself..." His face turned white as his mask. "I thought you were dead! When I saw the candle in the hallway I knew you had gotten out, and I hoped that you had somehow avoided my traps, I prayed, Christine! I prayed even though I knew no one was listening, that's how desperate I was! And as I searched and searched, then saw the chains hanging low as I turned a corner, realized where you were... I saw you under there, and I brought up the trap, devoid of all hope, for you were a shattered mess, even in the dark I could see the blood." He winced. "I was going to kill myself then and there. The same way, too, for that was fitting! I had already motioned to set it off again, end this wretched existence, then I realized you were breathing, very shallow breaths, and I carried you up here, set your leg, drugged you when you woke... You don't remember that?"

"No... no, not really."

"At least there's that..." he sighed, then his voice became taut again. "It was hell. I thought I had already lived through hell. How wrong I was... But you're better now. You'll be fine. When you're fully healed, I'll take you away to somewhere far better than here."

My lips parted in horror. "Somewhere? Not home?"

"I cannot send you back now," he said, as if it were a simple fact I ought to know. "I love you. I haven't said it before to you, I don't believe, not properly... I love you."

I glanced down at my leg, biting my lip. His face turned ashen.

"You won't forgive me, then?" he asked.

"I shouldn't..."

"A good Christian girl you are-"

"Don't you dare mention my faith!" I snapped, my voice wavering nonetheless. "You take me down here, belittle me, keep me in a cell, don't take precautions against simple fear and curiosity, and now you make fun of me? Make fun of the religion you tore up and twisted to fit your own interests?..." I was barely containing my tears. "I didn't yell at you before because I was afraid, but I'm not afraid of you now! Not a bit! Y-you don't frighten me anymore, because I can say anything and you can't do a-anything about it, can you?... Can you! You made a mistake to cry in front of me, and you can't afford mistakes! Not with me. Not with your little doll you've fed music to and now expect to sing at your bidding. That's all I am isn't it? Just a pretty instrument to you? Well, I won't be anymore! I won't sing for you, I won't be good, I won't obey, I won't! Because you can't make me and... and... I won't."

"Perhaps," he said, emotionless. "I cannot make you obey me now. The only means would be to deprive you of care... But you cannot walk. You neglected to mention that."

"I do many things without walking."

"You're helpless right now, you know. You're very brave to be saying such things in front of me."

"You confessed your love... You wouldn't hurt me now, not with my injury."

His eyes softened. "I wouldn't hurt you before."

"There are many types of hurt."

He did not appear affected by this statement. Instead he said to me, with raw earnestness, the first I had heard from him:

"What do you want, Christine? There must be something you want that includes me, isn't there? I was your world before."

"I thought you were an angel. You deceived me."

"You want an apology, then?" he demanded irritably. "You want me to beg forgiveness for caring for you? Loving you?"

"How was that love? You've taken away my freedom and my love."

"You betrayed me."

"Betrayed you?" I said, disgusted. "After you killed a man and lied to me?"

"We've discussed this-"

"No we have not," I said in tired exasperation. "You've spoken down to me like I'm a child. That's what we've done. We haven't discussed; you have told me. I'm twenty-one years old, not a child."

"You are very much a child. Your words are those of a child, betrayal and deception, when you cannot comprehend why I have done those both. I admit to deceiving you, for a purpose: developing your voice into an instrument to make angels weep."

"Then I am nothing more than an instrument to you, like a violin or piano, am I? Something to be tuned and played, then shut away..." My chin quivered. "Is that not what you want to do with me?"

"So that is what you want?" he said quietly, avoiding my gaze. "You want to know what I want to do with you?"

I swallowed. "Yes... T-that's what I want."

He rose and began to slowly pace as he spoke. His voice, when he began, was tender and soft, remarkably so.

"I want to take you far away from here," he said. "I acquired a secluded house near Bordeaux, close enough to a town and yet far enough away to be distant... I wish I could take you to Sweden, or to some wealthy estate, but I know that you are not prideful, so you would prefer a simple home. You want small luxuries, luxuries many would consider necessities, and I can give you all of those, anything your frugal heart wants. And I can offer you music, music no one else can or will give you... You have not even heard everything, barely scratched the surface of your craft. I can show you so much that you long for, though you deny your longing... I've never been allowed to love a woman, because of my hideousness, but you can manage to at least find me tolerable, can't you?... Just let me take you away from here when you're better, and we can spend the rest of our lives with music? What better life could there be?"

"You..." I averted my eyes. "You want to marry me, then?"

"Yes... formally."

"But... no children?"

His half-masked face twitched into bitterness, "Children? What a ridiculous notion, children with this?... You'll have your own perfect little room, and a house to keep, and if you want pets or books, anything at all, I can give them to you. I'm wealthy, as it stands."

"So you will not...?"

"No. I will not... But I request you would at least say it fully to me, taste the words. What won't I do?"

I folded my lips firmly.

"Ah, so you are going to follow through with your disobedience..." he said sadly. "But you are dependent upon me down here, in your state, more than before. Of course, I have confessed my love, so you know I won't bring you harm... What is there left for me to do, then? Save keep tending to you and hope that you will one day agree to marry me?"

"You don't need my agreement."

"But I would prefer it... Oh, Christine, why doesn't that appeal to you? Running away and spending the rest of your days with music? You are music... And you've always been an outcast here, even now, when you sing like an angel, people still treat you differently, cruel as they are. They cannot understand you properly, no one can, except me. And I hope even I have not unlocked all your secrets yet."

"I'm not a safe."

He ignored me. "Of everyone you know, who understands your soul as I do? The one you gave your soul to?"

"Raoul," I retorted softly, trembling nonetheless.

His half-masked features darkened, and his voice came out cool and crisp, "The vicomte understands a little girl from Sweden. I have learned about you now. And you insist on being treated like a mature woman... And can you live any life at all without music?"

"He can play."

He laughed, "Play what? Play the games of gentlemen? Don't you know what he's been up to in your absence-?"

"Stop, stop, I know you're lying."

"Perhaps... but do you truly know?"

"He plays the piano," I said, trying to further my stance.

"Can he play it like I can? I don't play instruments, my dear, play is such a childish word, don't you agree? I make music. The vicomte can play notes, rhythms, perhaps, but never _music._ I doubt many save you and I can make music, true music."

"But he's not a murderer."

"Buquet again? We've discussed this; it was an accident."

"Why do you still lie?"

"It's not a lie... You are young, not a child, I admit, but young, and your life would be over in a heartbeat if you had gone away to live with the vicomte. Can you imagine it? You're a chorus girl, not a countess or the like. No one would respect you. You would have no friends, no family, only your husband. And you would have to depend on his love for you, his friendship, and if that ran out you would have nothing. Well, a divorce paper perhaps, and a baby, but nothing more... Does that sound preferable to you as opposed to my offer?"

"He wouldn't abandon me."

"You don't know that."

"I'd rather be abandoned and free than a prisoner."

"I want a wife," he told me firmly, "not a prisoner."

"You wouldn't let me out of the house."

"Of course you could go outside the house!" he exclaimed. "Does my appearance make me seem such a monster as to shut you away for eternity?... I've been down here so long, all alone, and I can't bear another minute of it! So you are correct, I can make you marry me, when you're healed, and shut you away if I so desired. I could do whatever I wanted with you, I _can_ do whatever I want with you... But the only thing I desire is your company, and your music. Give me those, and I'll give you everything."

"Will you give me promises?"

"You wouldn't trust my promises."

"No... I wouldn't."

He sighed, rising. "I've had enough of this misery. You should rest some more, think over all I've said... Do you require anything?"

I shook my head, already pensive. He reached out for me, but removed his hand before I could flinch.

"I'll be back soon," he told me as he turned to leave. "I need to check something."

He did not close the door behind himself, and I wanted to be brave and accept that, but my childish fears bested me yet again.

"Angel, wait," I asked.

"Erik. You named me Erik... What is it?"

"Would you close the door?"

"Why?"

"Because I want it closed."

"As good an explanation as any."

The door shut behind him, and I exhaled shakily. My vision promptly blurred with tears.

I couldn't escape now. I could never escape. He would take me away at the end of three months and keep me with him for the rest of my life. He would never let me go, never leave me.

I didn't believe his promises, nor a word he spoke. I didn't even believe that he loved me, only that he had developed an unhealthy obsession with me, as I had perhaps been the only person to give him a kind word. The only person...


	5. Chapter 5: Reparations

**NOTE: I don't think I made this clear, but she's in Erik's room now, not the other one. I put that in the last chapter but it was rather vague, sorry.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

What if he _was_ right? What if I could never be happy? If I was with Raoul, I would be a Comtesse- assuming his family didn't disown him, which he had assured me wouldn't occur- and unable to pursue music, though I would have love. But if I was with Erik (it felt so strange to call him that, like calling Madame Giry by her first name), I would be kept in a house under whatever terms he set, but with his music to fill my miserable days.

Oh, how I wanted Raoul to confide in! It had been wonderful having someone to talk to freely about decisions and thoughts, even though sometimes he told rather than advised, but no one is perfect... No one is perfect...

It wasn't true what Erik was saying about him. Of course not, why would it be? Of course Erik would want me to doubt my love, hoping to turn it to his, as if that could ever come back to me... Oh, it couldn't be true! Of course not! Raoul loved me as much as I loved him, and he wouldn't leave me, or abandon me, not at all. Even if he was a vicomte, used to a certain lifestyle and privileges, even though he told me he had not indulged in that, promised me he had not... And he would never abandon me. He loved me!

Then why hadn't he come?

This thought settled in the back of my mind, and I had no way to rid myself of it, for the only two explanations were that he had and... died... or that he had not come to find me. Of course I preferred the latter, and I knew it must be the latter, for Erik would be overwhelmed with joy at his death, but...

I suddenly wished I was delirious again and didn't have to think. But I did, and was starting to feel quite overwhelmed with pity for my captor, now that my fear had subsided. It was horrible what he had been through, and I hadn't truly thought about how he must feel, having caused my leg to break, taken me down here away from the world, all because he couldn't bear to be alone. He had done this all because he couldn't bear to be alone and unloved anymore.

What had happened to make him this desperate? How many years of abuse had he gone through? Had he ever had moments of happiness or freedom, or had it all been horrible and cruel, twisting him into... _this?_

I did know about humanity. I knew that people could be cruel to an outcast, someone different than themselves, and someone far from pleasing to the eye... And I thought I had had a difficult time adjusting to French culture and being an outcast, when I was young and considered beautiful.

If only he would just tell me what had happened to him to cause him to become what he was. But he wasn't trying to be a cruel captor now, it seemed, not like before. He was taking care of me regardless of what I said to him, because... because he did love me. The poor man truly loved me.

He came back into the room in a few hours. At least, it felt like it, but I didn't have a watch. Upon entering, he seemed to twitch a little as he moved, like he was tense. He apologized to me for being gone so long and asked if I had a request for lunch.

"Some soup, please," I told him politely. "I don't mind what type."

"A broth?"

"Yes, that sounds nice."

"Do you want it now?"

"What time is it?"

"Eleven... Maybe I should buy you a watch-"

"Please do," I asked swiftly.

He blinked, his twitching ceasing, "Does it matter so much to you? Knowing the time?"

"Yes, please, I like to be able to know it whenever I like... but couldn't you just bring down the one from my dressing room? There's no point in buying a new one."

"I suppose not... if you want the other."

"Yes, thank you."

He seemed unsure of how to reply at my kinder tone, so he gave a half-nod in my general direction as he turned to leave. Then, after leaving the door ajar, he shut it, having remembered my preference.

He had remembered...

When he returned with a steaming bowl of soup on a tray, he found me examining the leather-bound book he had been reading before.

"You can't read Latin," he told me simply, plucking it out of my hands and placing it on the desk. "Here's your soup-"

"I was only curious." I replied, feeling hurt. "You didn't have to take it from me-"

"But you can't read it."

"Yes, but..." I sighed. "You could've asked."

"You didn't ask to look at it."

"I suppose..."

"Your soup is getting cold, Christine... You know, Christine, if you care, I love your name."

I blew on a spoonful of soup, "Oh?"

"I used to..." he laughed bitterly. "Say it a hundred times, as if that would make you appear. I love how it sounds the Swedish way better than the French, and I went back and forth between the two... Why am I telling you this? you don't care about that-"

"No, no, I... Erik, I-"

He stiffened at being called that.

"So that's not your name," I said miserably. "It's another lie to me?"

"It is my name... I've never been called it before, though."

"That doesn't... really make sense."

"I was given a name because I needed to be baptized as a baby," he told me, his lips twisting into a bitter smile, "to save my soul, though I doubt anyone truly thought I had one to save... But no one ever used it save myself, in my head. And of course, my- but that's not of importance."

I took another sip, and asked gently, "Do you like me calling you Erik?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Originally, though, it was pronounced the French way."

"But you said it the Swedish way before."

"I liked how you said it, so I made the decision to change the pronunciation. And why not? If no one can be bothered to say my name, I have all rights to choose its pronunciation as I please."

I took another few sips of soup, and he sat down at the desk, perfectly content to be with me and watch. It was unnerving having him there, but also comforting, in a strange way. Perhaps an unconscious part of me still thought of him as an angel.

"I thought about... about your offer," I said softly.

He stiffened considerably, seeming to be barely daring to hope, "And?"

"I realized I... don't think I can ever be entirely happy anywhere."

"You don't know that, but yes, at the moment it seems you cannot be happy anywhere."

"But you won't let me go even though I'm not."

"That's not entirely true," he told me, pensive.

"What?" I asked, sitting up further. "What do you mean?"

He rose. "Well, you're miserable here."

"Yes, but-"

"I had wanted you to fall in love with the music again. That's why I took you down here, truly, because you seemed to have forgotten everything that makes you live, and replaced it all with someone you believed you loved more. And then this occurred, and that plan was destroyed. So how can I alleviate your misery?..." He sighed, "I've made you an offer, now make me one."

"What?... Now?"

"You can have time to think. Find a way to content you that includes me... But finish your soup first, and then I have some errands to run."

"What?" I inquired.

"Oh, notes to deliver, things to buy." He glanced over at me, seeming hopeful. "Do you want anything?"

"My watch, please."

"Yes, I'll get that for you on the way back... But do you want me to buy you anything?"

"I... suppose..." What should I ask for? I didn't need anything, but he truly wanted to buy me a gift. "I'd like a shawl, I think."

"A shawl?" he asked in concern. "Is that nightgown not concealing enough for you?"

"No, it's fine, I... You asked me for what I wanted."

"I did. A shawl it is..." He was speaking gently now, like he was hopeful and happy. "What color?"

"Green or blue."

He nodded, "What shade?"

"I... I don't know, any shade."

"Any designs? Fabrics?"

"I don't really care."

"Very well, then you should be content with whatever I bring... Do you require anything before I leave?"

"How long will you be gone?"

"Hopefully only two hours, but likely longer... I hate having to leave you alone, but there are necessary things to be done today so that I don't have to leave at all for another two days... What do you need before I go?"

I set aside my soup, trying to restrain the blush creeping into my cheeks, "Could you help me to the bathroom, please?"

It was terribly embarrassing to have to ask him to carry me, and though I was able to do it alone once set down, I feared I would fall or something and... Oh, my face was burning at the mere thought!

Once this tediousness was finished with a surprising amount of modesty, he placed me back in the bed, propping up my leg, making sure I was comfortable, then he left.

I shifted myself down onto my back, not exactly tired, but wishing for sleep all the same.

When he returned, I decided I would ask to sing with him, both from my own desire for it and the fact that he would be elated. Perhaps one day I could explain to him that I owned my voice and not him, but he had inspired it, so I wanted to offer it freely. I wanted to offer it as much as he wanted, for it was all he had of someone else, it seemed, but I just didn't want him to take it. He should know that he couldn't just yell, "Sing!" and have me obey like a wound-up music box.

So I waited, and being on my back, my eyelids grew heavy and my thoughts started to blend together until they were indistinguishable, and I fell asleep.

"Christine?" A voice called.

I sat upright groggily.

"Christine?" It called again.

"Who's there?" I replied.

"Christine!" Raoul cried, rushing into the room.

"Raoul! Oh, is it you? Really you?"

"We have to go before he finds us!" he told me, pulling me to my feet.

For a moment, I was startled, as if something wasn't quite right. But then he started to run through the endless maze of tunnels underground with me, clinging to my hand.

I realized we must be close to the pit I had fallen into, so I pulled him back moments before he fell over the edge.

"How did you know that was there?" he asked.

"I fell into it a week or so ago." I replied, staring down into the black abyss.

"Fell in? And you didn't break any bones?"

"I was very fortunate, I suppose."

We both cried out as the room was surrounded by flames, great tongues of them, orange and gold, dancing about us. And above the roar of them came a hideous laugh that I had heard before.

"You thought you could escape, my songbird?" Erik said with another laugh that pounded in my head. "My lark?"

The fire engulfed Raoul as another hideous cackle resounded through the cavern, and he screamed so hideously that I was jolted awake, panting.

"Christine?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice as he stepped inside the room, a white parcel in his arms. The unmasked side of his face pulled tight in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," I managed.

"You're breathing hard... Did you fall asleep?"

"I had a nightmare."

There was no use in lying.

"It ought to be expected," he said softly, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. "I'll make you a special tea next time, if you want. Sometimes that helps... You shouldn't be having nightmares, I won't allow it."

"You can't control that... but thank you," I replied.

He, again, gave a slight nod at this, and handed the parcel to me.

"Did you remember my watch?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, here," he replied, taking it from his pocket and winding it. "It's nearly two."

He set it on the nightstand. I unwrapped the white paper covering the shawl he had bought me, a little trepidatious, and stared at the silk fabric for a moment. How lovely it was! And it seemed no more than water underneath my hands, sea green with white oriental flowers like foam...

"I didn't..." I said softly, admiring it with a bit of awe. "I didn't mean you had to buy me... something so nice, I thought... something simple, like cotton, or...

"Do you not like it?" he asked, his wounded tone betraying the stoic manner he tried to keep.

"It's so beautiful..."

"It's for you to wear, not just look at."

"I know... Thank you."

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve for a moment to better secure it in his jacket, then realized his nervous tick and ceased.

"I have something else for you, too," he told me.

"What?"

"Do you like sweets?"

"I suppose, when I can afford them."

"Good... Good. One moment."

He left, the door swinging almost shut in his wake. I wrapped the shawl about myself, melancholy, and examined the intricate details. How much had he spent on me? Or perhaps it was more out of having money and nothing to do with it, and he wanted to earn my love, so, of course, gifts.

It didn't feel right... But it made him happy, so it ought to be.

He nudged the door open, a short tan box in his hands with a pretty white bow on the top. I knew what they were before he had even placed it in my lap.

"Chocolates," I whispered, a little in awe as I uncovered the lovely assortment of dark brown mounds and clusters, sprinkled and glazed with white, or sparkling with salt, all crowded together.

I stared down at them for a moment more, then gently shut the box.

"You don't need to have so much self-control down here," he told me, almost teasing. "Surely you'll have one?"

"Not now..."

"Come now, you must want one-"

"I don't want-"

"Just one-"

"I don't want any!"

There was a tense moment of silence, and I stared down at the blanket, tightening it around my fingertips.

"Well, what do you want, then, if not gifts?" he asked dejectedly.

"No, I like them, I just... I don't know, I only... I only want..." I inhaled, "to be free."

" _Free,_ " he repeated, mocking the word. "What is freedom anyway, what do you want of freedom?"

I strained the shawl about my shoulders.

"Will you not say?" he asked.

I kept my eyes averted.

"Then you don't know what freedom is," he said, standing up. "Of course not, and you think it's some magical, wonderful thing that will fix you and make you whole, like those daft revolutionaries that kept popping up always say. It does none of that. Freedom is loneliness. When free, no one inquires of you, no one depends upon you, you're alone with your freedom to use as you please... But you've never been free, so I don't expect you to understand the word. Not at any fault of yours, only your upbringing. Being dependent upon a father all your life, then having him be torn away from you, that made you dependent. You've clung to people all your life: your father, Madame Giry, her daughter, me... Do you want to be rid of us? For with us, you are not free, but not alone."

"I can be free with others."

"You should be dependent. I could care for you, I could, very well, like I will for these next three months, and the rest after... Though I'm not one for social constructs, is it not pleasant to imagine being taken care of and adored? I still cannot see why that doesn't appeal to you."

"Because I won't be able to choose anything."

"How do you know that?... And what do you want to choose? To be poor and unloved?"

"Just to _choose._ "

"You seem to think of marriage as such a constraining thing. How strange it is that you sought it so..."

"That would have been an equal marriage."

He laughed, "Equal? So that's what you want? To be a man, free to do as you please?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to go home!" I cried. "Why do you toy with me so? I can't stand it! Please stop, please, I'll go mad if you keep doing this... I-I'm going mad, I think... q-quite mad..."

His lips parted, and his voice came out soft, "Christine, my dear, I'm not toying with you. You're perfectly sane."

"I want to go home..." I whimpered. "I know I can't, but I just want to go h-home."

He left the room, shutting the door harshly as he left. I stared at it in bewilderment, fearful I had angered him.

Then I heard the faint sound of ragged breaths and tears. He was crying. I had never been able to stand the sound of a man crying. It was the most pitiful noise besides that of an infant, and perhaps women have some maternal instinct in them to quiet tears, and that was why it pained me so. I could almost feel it in my heart, tugging painfully.

"Erik?" I called. "Erik, come back, please."

His sobs subsided, and after a moment, he returned, seeming completely collected.

"I've accepted your offer," I told him, unsure of myself. "I-if you keep a promise to me."

"W-what promise?" he asked, bewildered.

"If you can love me properly for these three months, show me that I'll be safe with you, entirely safe and loved, then I'll marry you."

His malformed lips parted in confusion, "Are you lying to me?"

"No. No, I promise I'm not."

"How do I know?" he questioned, his voice sounding rather choked.

"Because even if I am, you could still force me into marriage regardless."

He forgot himself entirely, and he kneeled down beside the bed, staring up at me, "Christine... Oh, Christine, I'll be perfect to you, I promise, I promise what you asked for, all I've only ever wanted to love you, j-just love you. I was upset at you before, but no more of that, no more, I promise..."

He started to cry into the bedsheets, and I extended a quaking hand to his hair. I actually believed him.

"And I'll help you..." I offered, removing my hand. "B-but you promise to respect me leaving, if you hurt me again?"

"I'll never hurt you, I've never meant to, but... I promise, Christine, my angel, I promise. I love you." He gave a sob. "I love you..."

Even if he still planned to take me away regardless, now I had secured that he would at least try to be kind and loving. And perhaps he only needed the opportunity. His emotions were not those of a heartless murderer, but an unloved man.

But how could I forgive? How could I forget? And now I was dependent upon him harming me so I could go back to Raoul!

I would never return to Raoul now. I had secured that fate. But perhaps it was better this way. His social standing would have fractured the moment he had said, "I do," and now he would retain his pride. And there were plenty of women for him to court besides me... plenty of lovely women with far more money than I ever had... with pearls about their necks and diamonds on their fingers...

Raoul...

I either done something extremely intelligent or incredibly stupid, but either way, I had to accept that Raoul was gone from me forever.


	6. Chapter 6: Confidence

I woke the next morning unsure as to what I should expect, but it certainly wasn't this.

The room was covered in flowers. They were all tastefully done, in pinks, violets, and blues, soft colors. They rested in white boxes with pastel bows, or in vases. All were overflowing with petals and foliage, crowded together wherever they could be placed, dripping their colors onto the floor.

A single candle was lit beside the bed to illuminate this sight.

My lips parted in wonder as my eyes wandered about the room. The perfumes had dissolved the musty odor of the lake.

How on earth had he managed to buy all of these and bring them here? Did he have them delivered to the opera house's doorstep with a note "for O.G., place by the lake?"

It was all so silly, but I couldn't laugh. The attempt was pitiful, that he thought all the damage he had done to me, all the love I felt for another man, might be at all changed with lavish professions of love.

Then something caught my eye, on the desk. A pencil and paper, the latter upside-down. The chair was also pulled back.

Had he been watching me sleep? It wouldn't surprise me, but I shivered at the thought. And what was the paper for? Composing?

There came a knock at the door.

"Come in, Erik," I said, attempting a smile.

It opened. He was in his usual impeccable attire, his white mask glowing, but there was an indefinable something in his eyes, something I could not place... Hope? Fear?

He was holding a silver tray of breakfast: pastries, eggs, jams, all set out in an even prettier fashion than before. He set this beside me on the bed.

"Good morning," he said.

I flickered a smile, "Good morning."

"Do you like them?" he asked, gesturing to the garden.

"They're lovely."

I pushed myself upright on the pillows. He adjusted where my leg rested.

"Would you like to play music today?" he offered. "I have a wheelchair for you, if you don't want to be carried."

"You brought me a wheelchair?"

"Of course. The floors aren't made for it, but I'll help you."

"Thank you... Yes, I think I'd like to do that."

His eyes lit. "Good."

"And I want to wash my hair today."

"You could take a bath," he offered, avoiding my gaze.

"How would I manage that?"

"You would have to allow me to assist you in propping up your leg, but then I would go away until you were finished."

"But I wouldn't be decent."

"I only made a suggestion. I didn't say you had to. I agree that your modesty would be at great risk."

"I assume you don't think it matters because we are to be married," I said softly, staring down into my lap.

"It was merely a suggestion," he retorted, making an attempt to contain himself. "Are you not hungry?"

"I am, I was just waiting..." I glanced back to the desk and pointed. "What's that paper over there?"

"On the desk? Nothing," he said, without thinking.

"Did you watch me sleep?"

"No."

"Just be honest, please. I understand if you did, I do."

"But I didn't..." he sighed. "You're too curious. I'll show you the paper, will that appease you?"

"Yes."

He brought it over and placed it in my hands. I noticed his fingers twitching together at his sides.

My lips parted. "You drew me?"

"After I had brought in the flowers. But you slept longer than I thought you would."

I stared at the sketch. Two big eyes stared back at me, far bigger than my own, and perfectly parallel. He had dotted freckles over my features like how I looked in the summer. My hair was loose over my shoulders in thick curls. My lips were fuller than reality, but it didn't surprise me that he saw them that way. He had drawn only my face, my face the way he saw, in perfection and beauty.

He saw me like that... like a doll.

"Is it that terrible?" he asked.

"No... it's beautiful... Can you do everything, then?"

"Not everything."

"What don't you know?"

He thought, but was silent. I smiled gently.

"What about knitting?" I offered. "I should teach you something."

"I don't have any need of that..." He glanced away for a moment, at nothing in particular, then back at me. "I have a request to make of you."

"What is it?"

"As we have made a deal to prove I love you, and that you will marry me once your leg is healed if I do... then I would like you to wear my ring."

"No," I replied firmly. "You brought me here against my will. I refuse to wear your ring regardless of my promise to marry you."

"But we are, in a way, engaged now," he told me, his muscles taut..

"I don't care what we are; I won't wear it."

"You hate me so much as to deny placing a simple piece of jewelry on your finger-"

"Why shouldn't I hate you?" I snapped. "Why don't I hate you? It makes no sense! I ought to. You've done so many terrible things, among those murder! Why don't I hate you?"

"I don't quite understand what your question is. Are you asking yourself or me?"

"I don't know... I don't know anything anymore..." I inhaled shakily, swallowing back tears. "I wish you were just evil sometimes. I wish you were just cruel and despicable without reason, but you're not. You taught me. You gave me a friend to confide in- a lie, but a friend. And I honestly believe now that all you want is to love me but I don't think you _can_."

"And why not?"

"If you loved me, you would promise no more murders, no more tormenting, no more manipulation and lies, but time and again, you either avoided the question or told me no."

"You don't understand, my Christine-"

"I'm not yours. Don't call me that. I'm not yours. If I marry you, you can call me anything you like, as I imagine I'll just be a plaything at that point, but not now. Now I'm myself."

His eyes burned and his fist trembled at his side, "A plaything? You think you're nothing more than a doll to me? Would I give a doll all of me? Does a doll have a heart and a voice? No! How dare you think such a thing? When have I ever shown I would treat you in such a vile fashion?"

"You brought me down here and played with me like a toy!"

"When?"

"The first time! I wasn't myself, you had me drugged with your voice, and you touched me without asking, lied to me still, though I could see you through my clouded vision. And you treated me worse when you abducted me from Perros! You threatened to leave me in darkness and you were cruel, like I had no feelings, like I shouldn't be able to love whomever I want! Like I'm nothing more than something for you to possess!"

I was breathing heavily with emotion, and then I broke, crying into my folded arms. Erik stood beside me, bewildered. He let me cry for quite some time, and I heard him pacing. Then he came back to my side, silent for a moment.

"What else was I to do?" he whispered.

I glanced up at him, my vision fogged with tears.

His voice crackled as he spoke, "What else was I to do? I love you. And you tore me apart when you said you loved him, until I didn't know what to do! And then you were injured because of it... because of _me_."

We stared at each other in wonder at this new knowledge, this new confidence, then he promptly left, slamming the door behind himself.

I glanced over at my breakfast. Could I trust him with my heart, when he had done so much harm to it already? What should I do? What was there to do?!

How pitifully he had said the words, "What else was I to do?" He didn't know anything about love whatsoever, and was blindly trying to achieve it, in the most terrible ways he could go about it. But how could I simply forgive him now?

There was no returning to Raoul. I would cut him out of me and I would show Erik how to love me, and if he wouldn't, if he truly was cruel and wretched, then I would find a way to escape him.

I had to know if he was capable of love.

When he returned, he had reverted back to stoicism, having revealed far too much of himself. He brought me over to the organ in a wheelchair, which was a relief from behind carried around like an infant.

"What are we going to play?" I asked.

"You should be standing to sing," he said, "but this will have to do... We're going to play some simpler pieces, as your voice needs to warm up from lack of use."

"Do you have a favorite piece?"

He hesitated, "My own, of course."

"It's so dark, though. It's incredible, but dark."

"Life is dark."

"Not all of it."

"Perhaps for you... The story of my opera is not the vital essence, as operatic stories are mostly foolish and lavish. The music is the primary element. It tells the true story beneath the surface, and mine is about human nature, the desire to destroy the innocent and seek out only one's own wants, which is dark, but innate."

"Do you speak from experience?" I asked softly.

He refused my gaze, "Let's play music-"

"But were you-?"

"Sing, Christine."

I ceased fighting him shortly after that. It seemed to always come to nothing, and I began to truly feel the weight of Raoul's place in my heart. The empty hole filled with lead, dragging me down day after day, until I barely spoke, and Erik began to show concern after only a week. He had ignored my sadness, as he seemed to believe ignoring a thing could make it vanish. But it was there, and worsened.

One morning he came in and found me all curled up over my abdomen.

"Are you ill?" He asked.

I shook my head, my features hard.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my time is all..."

"Does it hurt that terribly?"

I glared at him, "Why am I in this position if it doesn't hurt?"

"I have some medicine for headaches, perhaps that would work."

"Once it hurt so terribly I had to take laudanum..." I blushed. "I shouldn't be speaking about this with you, it's not proper."

"I don't care."

"It's terrible this time, normally it's not this bad... I-I think medicine would be good."

"And do you want breakfast?"

"Maybe a little, something plain."

His eyes suddenly lit. "Medicine and breakfast, and I'll bring a surprise for you."

I sighed, the corners of my mouth lifting, "Chocolates, I expect..."

"No, not chocolates, something better."

When he returned, he had a tonic for me, which I downed eagerly. Then he gave me a tartine for breakfast.

"What type of jam is this?" I asked.

"Try it."

"Is it poison?"

"Why would I poison you?"

I smiled gently, "It was a joke..." I took a bite, and my eyes lit. "Where... did you find lingonberry jam? I've been searching for it for years."

"You're actually happy with this?" He said, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, thank you. That was sweet of you... Come here, please, come sit with me."

He sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed, as if astonished by his good fortune.

"I've changed my mind," I told him after a moment of hesitation.

"About what, my dear?"

"About wearing your ring."

He turned to me in wonder. "You would wear it?"

"But I need your apology, your sincere apology, for all that you've done to me."

"I regret what you've been put through. There was little else to be done in my circumstance."

"Little else? You're sorry for what's happened to me due to you, aren't you?"

His malformed lips parted, "Yes... I regret that very much. You should have been given deep respect and gentle care, and were not afforded that."

"I suppose that's good enough..." I sighed, extending my hand out to him.

His mouth fell open in surprise. He slid a silver and black ring off his finger and onto mine. His eyes gleamed at the sight, and he caressed the stone.

I pulled away my hand, examining it. "Where is this from?"

"It was a gift," he said softly, still staring at it in wonder.

"A gift?"

"From China."

"You've been to China?"

"Only for a short while... a few months..."

"It's beautiful... though rather... unusual for an engagement ring."

"I could buy you a normal one," he said swiftly, eager to please me. "Perhaps a diamond set with gold? Silver?"

"I like this one..."

I began to cry.


	7. Chapter 7: Knowledge

"No, no," he pleaded, "are you hurting? You know I hate it when you do this, you keep crying all the time and refuse to tell me why-"

I placed my head on his lap. He was silent, likely confused with me. I just wanted someone to hold me again; no one had in almost three weeks now. He had carried me around, but that wasn't the same. I wanted to be caressed and kissed and embraced until my troubles dissolved in the warmth of love.

I felt Erik's hand on my head, patting so softly I could barely feel it. I missed Raoul's affections...

"Why do you cry this time?" He asked.

"B-because..." I sniffled. "I feel so alone."

"Alone? Am I nothing to you?"

"Not alone in the normal sense..."

His fingers found their way into my hair, but I didn't stir. The feeling was comforting. Raoul had done it often when I cried...

"That's why I want to marry you," he said. "So I won't be alone."

"Have you always... been alone?"

"No. But the happiest times of my life have been."

"I'm sorry..."

"I don't want your pity."

"It'll have to do..."

"You don't love me at all, do you?"

"Pity is a form of love... I love you, in a way."

"What way?"

"Of a dear friend who betrayed me, whom I can't hate."

"That's rather specific."

I nodded in his lap now damp with my tears, then said, "Life is so strange and cruel..."

"It is..."

When I ran out of tears, he continued running his hand through my hair, as I hadn't told him to stop and I imagined he was enjoying himself immensely.

Had anyone ever given him affection before, or accepted his?

"Won't you tell me something about yourself?" I asked.

He ceased petting my head, "If you promise me something."

"What do you want?"

He was silent. I sat upright and found his eyes unfocused.

"Erik, what do you want?"

He stared ahead, his hands clasped in his lap, "I want to kiss you."

"Kiss me?"

"On your head. One kiss, on your head, for one part of my life."

"I shouldn't trade kisses for knowledge... but I promise. Tell me about yourself."

One of his hands trembled, "Which part?"

"Your childhood."

He hesitated only a moment before saying quickly, as if wanting to be rid of the knowledge, "I had two sisters and three brothers, but two died within the first three years of my life. My mother hated me and kept me away from the other children and never gave me anything unless they didn't want it. I had to fend for myself, and my only defender was my older sister, who was five years older than I was. But she died as well when I was seven, so then I had no one but two cruel older brothers. There was nothing to stop them from doing anything they desired with me, and my mother even encouraged them, she hated me so...

"My father was a professor at a college, I've chosen to forget which one, and he taught me in his spare time, as I was intelligent, and he wasn't an idiot who wouldn't make use of it. He wasn't cruel like my mother, but he was cold. He was a teacher, not my father. But I learned all I wanted to... Save music. No one would teach me, so I taught myself with the out of tune piano in our drawing room... Then I ran away once I realized I could, when I was thirteen. And that, my dear, was my pitiful excuse for a childhood... I expect you will deny me my kiss now, though."

He stood up from the bed, turning away from me.

"No, no," I told him. "You can kiss me. I promised."

He turned back to me, distrust waging war in his eyes. I shut my eyes and put out my forehead.

"Have I aroused your pity enough that I might have your cheek instead?" He said softly.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," I told him. "Come here, come sit and let me love you properly, this is sick! Trading secrets for a kiss, I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry, please come here."

He sat back on the edge of the bed. I turned him towards me, and kissed the masked part of his face.

"And the rest," I argued gently. "Remove that ugly thing, I'm furious enough to shatter it if you don't. I am."

He set it aside, bewildered, his eyes wide. Maybe he had died, the posture he had assumed, his blank features. I cupped his face in my hands and kissed every inch of it save his lips.

"Now you have what you deserved as a child," I told him, shocked at my own actions.

He began to cry, and I clutched him to my chest.

"I shouldn't be the first one to give this to you," I whispered. "Am I the first?"

"The first," he breathed, then he continued sobbing and clutching me as if I would vanish.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, kissing the top of his head. "I'm so sorry, so sorry... No wonder you did all those things... no wonder... Why didn't you say before?"

"My angel... My perfect angel..."

"How angry I am!" I cried. "Oh, the first day of my time and you tell me about your cruel mother! How could she? To a child, how?!"

"How innocent you are..." he whispered. "Innocent as a flower..."

"I lost my mother. W-when I was six, gone, just gone, and I... I cried for her, because I would never feel her kisses or embraces anymore and... And you never had any!"

"I don't need so much pity-"

"Oh, hush, I'm angry enough to burst!"

"Please don't..."

"I'm going to kiss you every day now, try to make up for your wretched mother. Did she even have a reason for what she did?"

"I was ugly when I was supposed to be beautiful... Surely you don't mean every day?"

"And no masks in front of me, none!"

"You're furious over this," he said, almost smirking.

"Perhaps I'm so passionate because I'm flowering, but I don't care."

"You'll take this all back tomorrow, you'll see."

He ran a finger across my jaw affectionately.

No, I wouldn't. And moreover, I didn't. As the days dragged by of music, tears, and made-up kisses, I ceased pitying myself and, miracle of miracles, began to _forgive_ him! Imagine! But he was making attempts to love me in all the ways he could think of- nice meals, drawings of me, multitudes of flowers, music, trading secrets... How could I not be filling with pained love?

He failed often, though. He knew, however, to leave the room before he could berate me, which he was getting quicker at every time. I, however, had let go all his wrongs in my speech, trying to give him kind words instead.

We were getting along with increasing splendidness, but, of course, this was not to last.

"It's been over a month now," he said one evening as I handed him back my music. "Nearly two."

I glanced down at the ring glinting in the candlelight, "It has."

"And I've proven I love you now."

"But... I'm helpless right now. How will it be when I'm not?"

"Your leg doesn't matter so much-"

"But it _does_. You caring for me is a type of love, but what of when I care for myself?"

"I don't know," he replied, then loudly, "I don't know a thing about marriage! How do you keep forgetting this? I want you never to leave me, as that's what everyone does, leave! Through death or hatred, they always leave! I would make you immortal if I could, but the second best option is to marry you, and of course I will choose that."

"But what type of marriage is this to be?" I asked softly, as I was always careful to speak quietly and cautiously when he was particularly upset, and even when not.

"I want a normal marriage- no, a happy one, if you could manage."

"I'm not the issue-"

"More than you think... You need to forget the vicomte. You still think of him, and you're not his, you're mine, so don't think of him anymore."

"I'm not anyone's."

He grabbed my hand and put the ring in my gaze, "I'm afraid not, my dear, we have an agreement."

"You treat me like a slave."

"I do not."

"You act like you own me."

"Because I _do_."

"No you don't! I'm a person, not a thing. You want to keep me as a pet, not a wife, don't deny it-"

"Why can't I have you?!" He demanded. "You can't seem to wrap your head around the fact that all I want is _you_ , _all_ of you. I don't want a wife or a pet, I only want _you_!"

"But you don't understand love at all! You think wanting me as yours is love? Love is wanting all another person wants, and often that person will also want you."

"And then you see the problem... You hate me still, don't you? This is an act, all of this kindness and affection, a _lie_."

"I don't hate you."

"Then why do you accuse me of not loving you?"

"Because I want you to love me properly, I... I love you, Erik. I love you enough to want you to succeed, and if that means marrying you in the end, as you haven't given me another option, I... I'll take it. You're right, I'll have music, I'll have..."

I began to cry. Erik knelt down by my wheelchair, raising a hand to cup the side of my face.

"You don't love me," he whispered. "But we have another month, surely you can learn to somewhat, surely..."

"I want to go home... I don't want to be here, I want to go home," I pleaded with a tone I couldn't help but render childish.

"I wish I had a home," he retorted. "Now let's get you to bed so you can cry there."

His cruelty always returned with my tears. I didn't understand how he could change from profound devotion to me to being simply cruel. It didn't surprise me, but... It was awful for both of us, that much I knew. I wasn't the only one who felt pain when words slipped from his tongue before he could restrain them.

He had to push the wheelchair up the short stairs to his bedroom that had become mine entirely at that point. He had even moved the monkey to the nightstand as well. The flowers were replenished and replaced often to be sure I was in a place similar to above ground.

He picked me up and placed me on the bed. I rolled over, refusing to face him.

He then left me alone for a time. I cried, was pensive, then cried again. I kept whispering 'I want Raoul, I want Raoul,' and trembling into tears anew.

I wondered what he was doing now. Worried to death over me? Dead? No, no, he couldn't be, Erik would have told me if he had died and made up an excuse for it. Raoul was, in his mind, what kept me from him. Didn't he know even in death I would never forget the little boy who fetched my scarf from the sea?

No. He didn't understand. He loved me and no one else.

When he came into the room later, I allowed him to sit on the bed with my head in his lap. It had become a common occurrence, but he was always elated to be permitted such a thing.

But I sat up suddenly, picking at my fingernails in confusion.

"What's wrong?" He asked, reasonably disappointed that I had removed myself from his hands.

"Lie down with me," I whispered, my eyes averted.

"What?"

"Lie down with me."

I heard his weight shift, and mine followed. I curled up on his chest as I had with Raoul forever ago, on a night I had tried to forget and never confessed to anyone, when I had been beyond foolish. I hadn't admitted it even to myself what I had done, so ashamed was I, and terrified of Erik should he find out, but... Now I had been contemplating it secretly.

That was why I feared marrying Erik above all else, when he found out I had already 'given myself away.' But at least I didn't have Raoul's child. I didn't know what he would do then.

I both wished I could take back that night and wouldn't give it for anything.

"Why did you ask for this?" Erik asked me.

"I don't know..."

"I didn't... mean what I said before."

"I know. You rarely do..."

"I would like to trade the some more of my life's history for something," he said hastily, staring up at the ceiling.

"What?" I asked.

He swallowed, "You won't say yes."

"What is it? A full kiss?"

"Yes... A real kiss."

I thought for a moment, "Alright, I promise. Tell me."

"Once I had run away, I found a group of men who had traveled around Asia to trade, but mostly for the experience of it. They found me intriguing, and I said I would work for them, so they let me come along. I saw much of the world at that time, but a month or so later, I found myself lost in India, unable to find them. In a way too difficult to explain, I found myself part of a tribe of assassins. But they nearly made me a target, so once I was about seventeen, I ran away again. A man found me, saw I had a skill for architecture and was very bright, so he brought me to Persia to learn from him. I became so adept that by twenty-two, I was designing a palace for the Shah, as well as a torture chamber. Once the palace was completed, a whole five years later, he attempted to have me killed, and I ran away, traveling all around the world... Is that satisfactory?"

"It's fine. I won't force more."

He shifted toward me, and I shut my eyes. I felt his hands upon my chin, supporting me, and his breath upon my lips, his soft, terrified little breaths.

And then his lips. His misshapen, lopsided lips, that found mine so clumsily I nearly laughed. But I pitied him, so I showed him how to wrap his arms around me, though he trembled all over and I feared he might faint. I kept kissing him and kissing him, resigned and unaware, until he shoved me away.

His eyes were wide. He slid off the side of the bed, breathing heavily, his eyes anywhere but upon mine.

And he stood there, brushing his lips with his hand, staring just ahead as if the wall were me.

"I'm not yours," I whispered.

He shook his head minutely, "No... no, you're not..."

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 **With this Christine, I feel like its logical she could have been so terrified and distraught over the phantom that she might have made love to Raoul before seriously contemplating the consequences. She also (I think I mentioned this before) had been living with him for six months, and in her state of mind at that time, and Raoul's attempts to comfort her, they might have just spiraled out of control one night before either of them stopped to think that maybe this was a TERRIBLE idea because of Erik's possessiveness.**


	8. Chapter 8: Promises

Two months of this. It wasn't as terrible as I thought. We often argued about what I wanted, as if he knew, but sometimes we didn't. Sometimes we were friends. We played music, read together, even played games. Chess was his favorite, and one day I got further than ever.

"Check... mate?" I asked, staring down at his cornered king on the board.

Erik shook his head in amusement, "You honestly think I would let you get that far?"

"I thought you were letting me win."

"You should win on your own merit."

"Check is pretty good, though."

"It is..."

He reached for his queen, and I said hastily, "Let me win, please? Out of all our games, at least give me one."

He sighed as he slid the piece away, "There, if that will please you."

I knocked his king off the board, "I've been waiting to do that for weeks now!"

He smiled faintly, "And now you have..."

"It means a lot to me, you know. Maybe one day I'll beat you on my own."

He chuckled, "If you're obstinate enough, I have no doubt. But you only learned how to properly play a little while ago."

He leaned down to pick up the king, and I began to put my white pieces back in line.

"What's for dinner, might I ask?" I said.

"Salmon," he replied.

"Oh, that sounds nice... Could I help make it?"

"You couldn't reach the stove in your wheelchair."

"I can stand up now, though, I think. Just put a brace on my leg."

"If you insist. I need to examine it anyway. It seems to be healing well."

My face fell, "H-how much longer?"

"Originally, I thought another month by now, but... maybe two weeks."

"Two weeks? Only two weeks?"

"Then we'll leave," he said softly, then his voice rose in excitement. "Do you have any requests for the wedding? It will be a quiet affair, but-"

"Erik, I can't," I said, preparing to defend myself against his ideas of me.

His features darkened, "You're going to break your promise, then, after all this time? Have I neglected you? Have I not loved you? That was our agreement-"

"I lied to you. I can't marry you."

"And why not?"

"You'll kill me if I tell you."

"Kill you? You're all I have..." His gaze darkened. "Kill the only thing I have in this world... But why can we not be married? As if it is against something deeper than your own emotions?"

"I made a..." Why was I telling him this? "hasty decision. I was afraid, you see. I thought you were going to violate me the first chance you had, and-"

"I know you're not pure, Christine. Is that what this is about?"

My mouth opened and shut in stupefaction.

Then he said, "You think I care?"

"You... don't?"

"I did once... but what does it matter if the vicomte used you?"

"I'll have you know that I wasn't _used_ -"

"He violated you."

"He did not!" I retorted, setting my last piece down. "Am I not in control of what happens to myself? Can I not choose who touches me? Apparently you think _not_."

He grabbed my face, holding me between his palms. I gasped, beginning to squirm, but he held me still. His eyes were tired. Not upset, not sad, just tired.

"I have lived all this time without a kiss," he said softly, "until now. I have lived alone, in the dark, pretending to be a ghost, and then an angel. Now I have a chance to live as a man. To have a house and a wife... I don't care if you spent every night with him while I went unseen. I care about the document that you will sign to be my wife, and no one else's. I want someone of my own, who won't run away, who won't be afraid of me, and who won't hate me. I don't require your love. I just want someone, Christine." His hands fell from my face, and one of his fingertips caressed my lips. "And nothing and no one is going to take that away from me now."

He leaned almost as if to kiss me, but drew away, his hands falling to his sides.

"Is it wrong of me to want that?" he whispered. "To want what everyone else has?"

"No... it is not..." I replied, my heart softening as my mind grew hard. "But I'm not a thing, Erik. I'm not your fantasy. I'm a living, breathing person, and I have my own wants, too."

"How do you know I couldn't make you happy? Why can't your wants and mine be the same? You want music and love, don't you? Our marriage will be full of music, Christine, the essence of you. And I'll give you anything you want. You could have a garden, pets, dresses and jewels-"

"I don't want those things."

"Ah, yes," he said venomously. "You want to have a title, an estate, and a handsome husband!"

He slid the chess set from the table, and the pieces clattered on the stone floor. I shook with fright.

"Who do you think I am?" I pleaded. "Don't you know me? Am I one who runs around with rich, handsome men...? But it doesn't matter if I did. Maybe I want to run around with rich, handsome men, and... sleep in their beds! Maybe! Why can't I? Why am I yours to control? My life is mine and I-I want to decide what to do with it."

"You did decide," he retorted sharply. "You made a promise!"

"You promised to love me. You have not upheld that."

"But I do love you," he replied, his voice sounding strangely innocent and childish. "I do love you, more than anything."

"Then let me go."

"Please."

I blinked in bewilderment. Was he begging me now? Was he letting his guard down so much?

"Please, Christine," he told me, his demeanor fracturing. "I can make you happy if you would just let me."

"If I marry you, that means I entrust you with all of me."

"Have I shown myself to be careless with you?"

"No."

"Have I violated your trust, or you, in any way?"

"Not exactly, but that could be due to my leg, and the fact that we are outside of marriage."

"You are sleeping in my bed, my dear, and your leg would offer no barrier to me if I wanted you."

"But when my leg is healed, and you practically own me, how can I trust you?"

"Because I love you. I can't bear to see you cry, so how could I manage to hurt you like that?"

"I don't know!" I pleaded. "I don't know what you're going to do! You scare me terribly. When you throw things, like the chess board, it scares me half to death! And then when you act like everything you want is far more important than what I do. It terrifies me. As you say, if you want me I have no power, and that you think your wants are more important than mine... why shouldn't that frighten me?"

He glanced down at the shattered game, his gaze growing lucid.

"You like to anger me is all," he said. "I react how I react, though I... will try in the future to limit myself... But I don't hurt you in my anger. I have never hurt you since you came into my care."

"Scaring someone hurts them."

"I didn't intend to scare you."

"But you did-"

"I didn't know!" he cried. "You try to anger me, you know! You try!"

"I'm only-"

"I need to examine your leg."

"Erik-"

"Now!"

My lower lip quivered. I turned towards the doorway, and he assisted me over the cobblestones. Then he helped me onto the bed.

"My freedom angers you," I told him.

"Your freedom is an illusion. We have discussed this."

"I just want the freedom to choose."

"You had that when you made our bargain... Be quiet so I can focus and not accidentally cause you injury."

This was not a threat. I did as he said, permitting him to examine my wellness. Then he put me in a brace he had bought and adjusted for me. I was surprised he wasn't angry enough to keep me from helping cook.

"What do you want out of life?" he asked me softly as he stared down at me, making me feel even more helpless.

"What everyone else does, I suppose. To be safe, loved, and doing what I love."

"Then how does your other suitor provide for you? Doing what you love, does that not refer to music?"

"I thought I would continue performing with him as my husband."

He chuckled, "A married woman performing? Won't you have children?"

"I don't really want children yet. I already told him that, and he agreed... If I did, though, then I could teach them music, and I would still be doing what I love."

He shook his head, "Oh, Christine, I don't understand you... We have made our agreement, one you promised to abide by, and we will be married by it. That is what will happen. Perhaps if you had not made such a promise, your words would carry meaning, but they do not. Besides, everything you have said, I can give you far more than he can."

"But I'm afraid of you."

"I'll wear my mask, then-"

"Of what you could do to me."

"Why are you not afraid of what he could?" he shot back. "What if he married you and decided he wanted children now? What if he forced you into the role of a Vicomtesse, one you know you wouldn't fit. Telling servants what to do, going to parties, gossiping and acting aloof, is that what you want?"

"I would take that over this, because I wouldn't be afraid."

"Afraid of me for what?" he demanded, furious. "I have not hurt you down here! I have done nothing but love you! If you're afraid of that changing, why, say that the other man changed? What if he stops loving you, hm? Just like you say I could! You think he can cherish you more than a man who has nothing but you? Nothing! And while you have been here, I have fallen more in love with you by the day. Even your anger, your passions, everything about you, I love you more than I can express... Put away this childish fantasy of marriage that you have, one you already should have gotten rid of the moment you promised yourself to me. I see you tried to deceive me, thinking I would harm you in that time, but did I? Our agreement was, word for word, that you would feel safe and loved. I have accomplished that."

"But I'm still afraid."

"That's not my fault. Do you not feel loved?"

"You've loved me the best you know how to-"

"You tried to trap me with your promise in two ways, then. You thought I couldn't do it, and if I did, you would insist that loving you would have me let you go..." He exhaled, "I need to make dinner now. You wait here and content yourself with your promise."

"But I wanted to help. You already put my brace on."

"Promise not to argue, then. No more discussion of the future."

"I promise."

"And I can trust you aren't trying to deceive me? As if you could?"

"Yes."

He assisted me into my wheelchair and took me over to the odd little kitchen he had in the corner, made entirely of stone. He helped me stand by leaning on the counter.

"Are you going to fall?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"What seasonings do you prefer?"

"Just a bit of lemon and rosemary."

He procured them for me out of a cabinet, then began with vegetables. It was so odd still, seeing him doing normal tasks. His deformity shone in the candlelight. I had long since lost my repulsion for the warped flesh, the patched parts, his malformed lips, the ones I had kissed...

I couldn't trust him, though. I felt stupid now for my promise, but I knew that he wouldn't have let me go anyway. I also didn't know how to consider what I had asked of him. I asked for love and safety, and for all he knew, he had accomplished that. Of course, he hadn't properly, but... for him, yes. Maybe he would retain that self-control later. Maybe he did love me enough. He was right that I was all he had, so why would he hurt me? I didn't hate him either, only feared him. He was so unpredictable. The moment we married, he could easily take away all my freedom, reject all my wants in favor of his own.

And yet... maybe not. After all, he had shown that he respected me, in the way he knew how to. He had. Should I just trust him?

Maybe it was amusing that I still asked these questions in my head, when there was only one future for me. Erik was right. His mind was stuck. He wanted someone who wouldn't hate him, someone to love. He had already told me that, and I believed it. I did pity him, and... I would marry him willingly, after all this time, if only I didn't still fear him. I truly would.

"Is the fish ready?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, handing him the plate. "T-Thank you."

He glanced over at me, "For what?"

"Letting me help."

"You would have cried," he replied.

The pink fish sizzled as he placed it in the pan. I processed his words. There was not "you would have been upset" or "because I love you" it was because I would cry.

He didn't even understand my emotions, only that my tears hurt him. At least I had that to protect me. It was true, he had grown unable to stand me crying, even in pity for him.

"I can set the table," I said.

"If you want," he replied, assisting me into my wheelchair and handing me plates and utensils.

"Will I make food when we're married?" I asked.

He was silent for a moment in surprise, as I had said "when." Then he replied, "I don't care either way."

"A normal wife would."

"You won't be a normal wife. I don't expect normalcy from you, nor do I want it. I love your voice, your passions, all of you."

"I thought you wanted a normal life, though."

"I want a semblance of one, yes. But I would not sacrifice your spirit to make you a demure little housewife. I want all of you."

I began setting the table, my eyes downcast. "I don't know if you can have all of me as a wife."

"I have all of you here. Why is that any different?"

"Because when I am a wife, you have the right to practically anything with me. I'm not afraid of you right now, due to our agreement and my leg, but once I am, I can promise I won't be bold as I am here. I'm not stupid enough to risk my wellbeing."

"You'll learn that you're safe, though. I'll show you... But we said we weren't going to discuss this now."

"There's not much else to discuss. We've been arguing about this for over two months now."

"I suppose you're right..."

"May I have one promise for the marriage?"

"As you say, though, I could break it. But what promise?"

"You can't touch me in any way without my consent."

He examined the fish, silent. Then he replied quietly, "I will abide by that, if you, in turn, promise me one kiss everyday. Then we are both bound to the promise."

"What type of kiss?"

"I will let you decide. After all this time, every kiss is of equal value to me..."

"I accept, then."

His features softened, and I noticed a tremor in his hand. He removed the fish from the pan and brought it over to the table, then the rest of the meal, before turning away from me to collect himself. He was unable to cease shaking, and it made my heart throb with pity that the promise of a kiss everyday for the rest of his life was enough to break him like this.

Maybe I was wrong to fear him. And yet, why shouldn't I fear a volatile man who had murdered?

"Erik, come close to me," I asked.

He inhaled, then turned. There was no redness to his eyes, but it was evident he was holding back tears. I reached up for his face, resting my hand on his deformity, and brought his forehead to my lips.

"I made a promise," I whispered. "You're right, I did. Two now. And I will abide by them."

He nodded, a few tears falling from his eyes. A few were drawn from mine as well.

Marriage to him wouldn't be so terrible, would it? He just wanted kisses and kindness, that was all. And we would have our music. He was not terrible, either, not to me. Chess with him was fun, reading books, the way he tried to entertain me with magic tricks when I was depressed from the darkness.

As we began to eat, I asked, "Would you show me how to do a card trick after we're done eating?"

His eyes lit, "Of course."

"Could you show me the one where the card reappears in a random place?"

"Oh, that's simple. For me, I mean. You always select the card I have already hidden away."

"How do you know I'm going to select that card, though?"

"Intuition."

"Erik."

He chuckled, "I think we should start simple... then perhaps I'll teach you more, if you want."

"I do."

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 **So it looks like this fic is turning into a Lilacs-ish thing, but with ALW Erik instead. Do you think he's being honest? Or more importantly, will he be able to keep his promises later on, whether or not he means what he says?**

 **Poor Christine, though. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, in a way.**

 **Just in warning, the next chapter is going to crush some of your spirits. If this does turn into an E/C, it'll be twisted. Not a good one in any way. Sort of like Lilacs.**


	9. Chapter 9: Memory

**Due to the long wait, I decided to post the chapter 9 for you guys as well. Enjoy! And review for both please, if you enjoy them. It's helpful for me.**

 **It gets a bit... violent, just forewarning.**

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"Is this your card?" I asked, holding up the ace of spades.

"No," he said simply.

I sighed in irritation, "I feel like you're doing this on purpose. What did I do wrong?"

"Lack of focus. Just try again."

"How are you so good at this?"

"I performed for years, and I had a natural aptitude. You will have to teach yourself, and we've only been working on this for a half hour now."

"Oh, I think I'm done for now," I told him, setting the stack on the table. "I want to go to bed early."

"It's only eight o'clock."

"I'm tired."

"You don't want to read a book?" he offered. "We always read books at night-"

"I just want to go to bed. That's why I put on my nightgown early."

"At least let me show you a card trick, one you haven't seen before."

I sighed, then smiled a little, "All right, one."

He picked up the cards and began shuffling them like water. Just that was amazing to see, how they could glide through his hands, even through his fingers. He could toss and catch them. It was mesmerizing.

"Do you have a favorite animal?" he asked me.

"I like birds," I replied, still entranced by the shuffling.

"What type of bird, specifically?"

"I've always liked the colorful ones they sell in shops. I can't remember what they're called."

"Parakeets?"

"Yes, those."

He smirked, "And what color?"

"A pale blue."

"Describe it in great detail for me."

"What does this even have to do with the trick? You can't possibly conjure a bird to my specific requirements out of thin air."

"Of course not," he replied. "I'm simply going to turn a card into one. Now, a white breast and blue wings? Was that the image in your head?"

"No. Pale blue all over."

"Pale blue all over it is... Pick a card for me."

I removed one from the deck. It was the five of clubs.

"Hand it back to me," he said.

I did so. He slid it between his hands, rubbed it, then stopped. He rolled up his sleeves so I could see he was hiding nothing, and then, quite suddenly, the card had vanished, and in its place, between his closed hands, was the exact bird I had pictured.

"No," I said, shocked beyond belief. "No, that's not possible. How did you know I would pick that color, first of all?"

"I know you well enough by now."

"But... where did it come from?"

"The card turned into it," he replied, quite pleased with himself. "Do you want the card back?"

"No, but do it again."

"All right," he said simply as the bird chirped. He pressed down as if squeezing it, but as his hands separated, there was the five of clubs.

"Oh, bring the bird back, though," I said. "Unless you have to return it?"

"It's yours if you want it."

"I do very much. Bring it back, won't you?"

"You bring it back. Put your hands on mine."

I did so, and again, he rubbed the card. It vanished and was replaced by the bird, who chirped happily.

"I bought a cage for it, too," he said. "Let me get it."

I assumed he was going to get up, but he remained where he was. He cupped the bird between his hands, moved them around it, and there was a great "poof" of smoke, and the cage appeared around it. It was a white one shaped like a bell jar, with a little swing in the middle.

"It's lovely," I told him.

"We can get him a friend if you like, too," he said, pleased with himself. "I only had time today to grab the one, and I wasn't sure if you would want to keep it."

"Where did you keep the cage and bird, though? How did you do the trick?"

"Isn't there a rule about magicians not revealing their secrets?"

"Doesn't the rule change when the magician is the audience's fiancé?"

He was silent for a moment, surprised that I had addressed him as such. Then he replied, "Yes, I suppose it does... I kept him inside my jacket. His leg was fastened by a near-invisible string. Slight of hand, and there he was."

"But the cage?"

"Again, slight of hand, with the smoke to distract you."

"But where were you keeping it?"

"Behind the chair."

"No. No you weren't, I would have seen!"

"But you didn't. You were too involved... Do you want to go to bed now?"

"Yes, I think so... Except... is the bird trained already to go on someone's hand?"

"Yes, he's very well behaved. He didn't even mind the string. I can get you seed for him, too- but _actually_ get it, I left it in the kitchen."

I laughed. He smiled faintly at this, reaching out to stroke my cheek, but he withdrew his hand.

"It's all right," I told him. "You can touch me."

He brushed the surface from my cheekbone to my jaw, then turned towards the kitchen. I felt where he had touched.

It wasn't right to love him, not in the way of a husband to her wife. He treated me like a child. I didn't think, however, that he knew how else to treat me gently. Maybe, in time, I could show him how to love me like his equal. He did love me, and I felt something for him that might be able to grow if the fear dissolved.

Maybe everything wouldn't be so terrible. There was hope. Even in this abysmal place, there was hope.

He brought me a brown bag of seed and helped me get the bird situated.

"What should I name him?" I asked, reaching in to stroke the bird's breast.

"He's yours," he replied simply.

"You conjured him out of thin air."

"Out of a card," he said, as if that made more sense.

"Still... Maybe I should name him after an opera character. Do you have a favorite?"

"Figaro."

"Oh, I like Figaro very much. From the Marriage of Figaro, yes?"

"Of course. Mozart." He glanced at the bird, then back at me. "You could have lots of pets if you wanted."

"I just want him, and maybe a friend for him, that's all... I don't much like other animals. Birds are nice, because they sing and fly, and they're so beautiful."

"You remind me of a bird," he said softly. "A beautiful bird."

I shut the door of the cage, my heart sinking.

"I'm not a bird," I told him. "I'm a person."

"You only remind me of one. I wouldn't want you as a bird."

I nodded, biting my lip. Then I asked, "What do you like about me?"

"Everything."

I shook my head, "You like when I argue with you?"

"In a way. I love how passionate you are in everything you do, and how caring you are for everyone, and everything..."

"Will you keep me in a cage like a bird?"

"No. No, of course not. We'll go on walks often, and you'll have a garden and house you can walk about freely. I might even take you into town sometimes, if you want."

"But I can't walk there alone."

"Not at first," he told me gently, "but later, when you trust me more, and I trust you, I'll let you go wherever you like... Is that so terrible?"

"It's better than being trapped down here in the dark."

"Anything is," he replied, pensive. "You should go to bed. Do you need help getting into it?"

"I'm fine," I said, pulling myself up and swinging my leg over. "See?"

"Yes... Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

He hesitated to leave.

"I love you," he said softly, then he went out of the room.

"Wait," I told him.

He returned, confused at why I would want him.

"Come sleep beside me," I told him.

He blinked, "Beside you? I thought you were afraid of me."

"Not here... and... sometimes I think I see things, in the dark."

His face fell, "We won't be here much longer. There's nothing there, you know."

"I know... My mind plays tricks on me down here, especially recently."

"You fear me less than imaginary shapes in the dark, though?"

"At the moment, I do."

I slid over to allow him room. He simply lied down on top of the blankets.

"Goodnight," I whispered, turning on my side.

He said something in reply, but I couldn't hear. He remained still, staring up at the ceiling.

"May I sing to you?" he asked.

"I would love that," I told him.

...

I jerked awake in the middle of the night. There was a figure in the doorway, dripping water. I could hear the beads falling onto the stone floor.

"Erik?" I said groggily, confused at why the place beside me was empty.

"Christine?" replied a different, familiar voice.

"Raoul?" I whispered, sitting upright. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, no, come with me, quickly-"

"My leg is broken-"

"I'll carry you-"

"I can't betray him. I made a promise to marry him-"

"What? Why? We have no time to talk, come along."

He went to pick me up, and I slapped him straight across his face.

"Go away!" I hissed in a whisper. "You're alive, and that's all I care about. Go before he finds you here! He knows what we did!"

"Christine?" Erik called in the distance.

My stomach knotted in horror.

"Hide in the closet," I told Raoul. "Hurry!"

I pushed him towards it, and he did as I said. Erik came into the room just as Raoul had concealed himself. He wore his white mask, and it shone brightly.

"Why were you talking?" he asked me.

"Oh, I was... praying," I replied.

"Oh... What for?"

"To give me peace. I've been anxious... Have you been composing?"

"Inspiration comes at odd times..."

He glanced down at the floor beside my bed. There was a puddle. Even in the darkness, it was visible.

He lit a candle, finding marble-like droplets in a perfect trail.

"We have a guest," he whispered.

Raoul burst out of the closet, nearly landing a blow, but Erik knocked him clean off his feet. Raoul gasped as he hit the floor. I gave a cry of horror, but I was paralyzed, rooted to the bed. My heart jumped into my throat as they struggled, wrestling together, then there was a flash of sharp metal in between them.

I screamed as I leapt off the bed to stop them. There was the sound of a knife being sliced through flesh. Dark liquid was pooling beneath them, but whose, whose? And Erik laughed, he laughed! Raoul!

" _Christine, Christine!"_

Erik shook me awake. I was sobbing, confused as he brought me back into reality. How real my nightmare had been, how vivid! I trembled all over uncontrollably.

"What happened?" he pleaded as I struggled to regain myself. "You screamed, what happened?"

"You killed him," I whispered. "You killed him."

"Shh, shh, I killed no one."

"Raoul, Raoul-!"

"Calm down, it was a nightmare, see?" He reached for me gingerly, and I let him hold me against him. "He's not dead. I wouldn't kill him, you know that. Then you would hate me."

I squirmed out of his grasp, "Go away. Get away from me."

"It was a dream-"

"You're a murderer! Even if it wasn't Raoul, you're a murderer!"

"Come now, please, calm down-"

He pinned me against himself as I struggled wildly.

"I'm not a murderer!" he told me. "Not anymore."

I shook my head, "Let me go, let me go-"

"Calm down first. You're not sensible."

I scratched at him with my nails, and he released me in surprise. I tumbled onto the stone floor, whimpering. He picked me up, taking care to pin my arms, but I was broken by then and put up no resistance. He took me into the kitchen and set me down at the table.

"I'm going to make you something to calm you," he said.

I set my head down on the white tablecloth. I could still see the blood. It had been so real... and Erik's laugh, like after Buquet, that hideous laugh of delight in death... the dark puddle beneath the two struggling bodies...

He placed a cup of something in front of me.

I whispered, "I don't feel well."

He touched my forehead, "You have a fever. You're right... Drink this, then I'll make you something for that."

"Will it make me sleep?"

"No."

"I don't want to sleep anymore..."

"It won't make you sleep. It will only calm you."

I shook my head.

"I'll force you," he said.

I tipped it to my lips. My hands were still trembling, and most of it spilled on my nightgown due to this. Erik handed me a napkin.

"I'm taking you away from here tomorrow," he said firmly. "I don't want you having more nightmares, not like this."

"But... my leg."

"I'm not letting you spend two more weeks down here," he insisted, distraught. "It's been too long for you down here. You don't belong in the darkness... and I can find a way to get you up there with your leg. I'll find a way."

He turned back to making my tonic, or whatever he was doing. I kept my head down on the table.

"I miss home," I whimpered. "I miss the opera house, too, and everyone... I miss home..."

"Then I'll take you home," he said, slamming his hand against the countertop in distress. "I will! At this point, I will... In two weeks, meet me at the train station. Tell whoever is with you that you're going to Perros."

"I don't understand."

"Pretend like you can't remember anything, but insist that you go there. If you don't arrive, I'll find you."

"You trust me not to run away?"

"I'll find you if you do. You know I will."

"I know..." I said faintly, still unable to comprehend. "Home... I'm going home..."

He gave me another glass. It put me in a daze. The darkness swirled in my vision. I could feel him carrying me, but I didn't understand what was going on exactly, or where I was. He brought me up to my dressing room and set me on the chaise longue. He told me the time, but I forgot it. The last thing he did was light a candle.

When I came out of my daze, the door to my dressing room was opening. I sat up in confusion.

"Hello?" I called.

Two blue eyes met mine. Raoul's mouth fell open as a bouquet of flowers tumbled out of his hands.

"C-Christine?" he whispered.

"I'm dreaming," I replied. "I'm dreaming-"

"You're not dreaming, you're not dreaming!" he cried, embracing me and covering me in kisses. "What happened? Are you all right? How are you here? Why is your leg in a brace?"

"My leg..." I remembered what Erik had said. "I can't remember."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't remember."


	10. Chapter 10: Amnesia

Raoul brought me to his estate. He had a room prepared for me and a doctor sent for. Then he pulled up a chair next to the bed and held my hand. I couldn't cease staring at the open window, taking in the sunlight.

"You don't remember anything?" he asked.

I shook my head, "No... There's Perros, then it's all dark."

"Perros? Maybe we should go there, then, when your leg heals. You might remember there."

"Yes... yes, I think we should go... o-or I should, alone."

"You shouldn't go anywhere alone," he replied, cupping my face with his hand, "not when we don't know where he is or why he left you in your dressing room... Do you think he took you somewhere?"

"I don't know."

"I'll have the police search the cellars again anyway. Madame Giry told me that he must have taken you somewhere, or at least kept you at Perros, so that's where I searched... and I did go down, to see, but I found nothing, nothing..."

"It's all right, dear. I'm here now, and that's what matters."

"Yes, that's all that matters... And I think we should be married as soon as possible."

"No, no, I-I..."

"Why not?"

"I..." I struggled for an explanation. "The operas. I-I want to do one more, once I'm ready."

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "I hadn't even considered. That must have been hard for you to go without."

"I don't remember if it was..."

He glanced down at my other hand.

"Do you remember where you got this ring?" he asked, holding it up to my view. "Do you want to take it off?"

I shook my head, "I don't think that would be wise. If he didn't take it from me, I should keep it."

"But if it upsets you-"

There was a knock at the door.

"Monsieur le vicomte?" came man's voice. "The doctor is here."

"Send him in," Raoul replied.

A man in dress clothes carrying a black briefcase came in. He wore spectacles and his gray hair was patched and balding.

"Good morning, monsieur," he said to Raoul as he opened his case. "If you would please tell me in the clearest manner of which you are capable, what is she suffering from?"

"She can't remember anything," he replied. "She was abducted three months ago and doesn't remember anything in that time."

"Three months? And no memory?"

I shook my head.

"Can you remember when you were abducted?" the doctor asked me as he removed a cone-shaped object.

"Yes," I replied. "I was at my father's grave. That was where he took me. Everything else is dark after that."

"I expect you had a great shock, then, something you don't wish to remember, and that your mind forbids you to. Amnesia happens often with women who undergo too much stress in circumstances like these."

"Often?" I asked. "I-I've never heard of someone having this."

"Often for women in these _circumstances_ ," he reiterated. "Let me hear your heartbeat, see if it's quick... Breathe in for me."

I did so as he placed the metal cone on my chest, then my back.

"Seems to be in order," he said. "I would advise bedrest and a calm environment. Your mind will relax and your memory may return. If it does not, though, perhaps it is for the better."

"And look at her leg," Raoul added. "She has it in a brace and can't temember why."

"Let me see."

It might have embarrassed me once to roll up my skirts in such a way, even just over my knees, but not now. He felt my leg, and I winced as he found a tender spot. He removed his hand and I pushed my skirts down.

"It must have fractured and healed," he said. "I think two weeks at the very most before the brace can be removed. I would advise that you remove it in twelve to see how it is... Any other concerns?"

"No," I said.

"Fetch me if she deteriorates," he told Raoul, then he glanced at me, his gaze softening, "Actually, I might see if... May I speak with you somewhere private, monsieur?"

"Can't you speak to me about my own health?" I demanded.

"It's a delicate matter, mademoiselle."

"Christine," Raoul said, "I'll tell you if I think you need to know. We'll be back in a moment."

I nodded discontentedly, staring up at the ceiling. They headed outside and shut the door. Tears slipped down the sides of my face, at lying, at being treated like a child, at knowing I only had two weeks to spend with Raoul before I would spend the rest of my life with Erik. It wasn't even that I would be with him, simply that I didn't know what he would do with me. He could do anything.

Raoul came back into the room, white as a sheet. The doctor's footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"What did he say?" I asked.

He shut the door, then replied, "Nothing you need to hear."

"I have no memory and I'm being treated like a child!" I snapped. "What did he say?"

"I don't want you to know. I don't want it to be what happened."

"What did he say? Does he think I was violated? I wasn't, I know that much, I can tell."

"It was worse than that..."

"Worse? What could be worse?"

He shook his head, "I can't think about it. I felt sick just hearing the idea."

I sighed in irritation, "Can you not hear me? Why won't you tell me something that concerns me?"

He shook his head again, and his voice croaked, "I-I can't."

"I didn't mean to be harsh, Raoul-"

"No, no, it's fine, you have a right to know, you do, but I can't tell you. If you remember, then you can know, but... If that's what happened, I hope you don't remember a thing... Get some rest. I'll bring you lunch when you wake up."

I nodded discontentedly. He shut the door behind himself as he left.

What did he think was worse? I thought hard about something worse than rape, but I couldn't find anything. Nothing...

I tried to keep my eyes shut, but I couldn't bear it. After finding no answer to what Raoul was concerned about, and realizing it didn't matter, I started thinking about what would happen after this. For all I knew, the rest of my life could be wonderful, but it could also be misery. I could only hope that Erik learned to truly love me in that time, and that I could love him. I would have his music, after all, his magic tricks and devotion to me... I would have a life still, wouldn't I? One I could control at least somewhat.

What if I was belittled for the rest of my life, though? What if he was incapable of loving me past treating me like a child? What if he was lying and would manipulate me horribly when we were married into doing anything he wanted?

I fidgeted with my ring, admiring the black stone. I pushed it off my finger, then spun it around and slid it back on.

Why had Erik let me go like this? Without a threat against me doing whatever I wanted, save that he would find me if I ran? It made no sense, save that he wanted to give me this time to be happy before he took me away. If that was it, then at least his view of love had expanded somewhat. It gave me hope.

The days began to fly by. I marked them all down to better appreciate them. Raoul and I spent all the time together. Even at night, he didn't leave my side, even though he told me people would talk.

"Let them talk," I replied. "I don't care anymore."

"That's what I'm concerned about," he said. "You don't care... Why don't you care?"

"We'll be married soon anyway. Besides, they expect me to be a mistress, so at least no one will think any differently of me. There were already rumors."

"But you act like you want us to make love again. Before, we did so because you were afraid of that being taken from you. Now, it's just reckless to... and unlike you."

"I've never felt safer than when we made love," I told him, my voice trembling. "E-everything went away, there was just you and me, just us two. There was no... opera ghost, nothing. It was us. And it wasn't even us, we were one... weren't we?"

"Of course, but... I don't think it's advisable right now."

He said that, but the following week he had given in. After all, we were sharing a bed. It was impossible to resist each other in such close proximity.

The morning after, though, I felt guilt. I did. I was afraid that Erik would know.

But he couldn't, and I had given up caring about consequences. I was reckless and I wanted to be. I had two weeks to live how I wanted. Two weeks.

I spent that time meandering through the garden in my wheelchair, with Raoul sometimes pushing me. He put budding flowers in my hair, and told me that this whole estate would be mine, too, soon.

I nodded and smiled. I did that a lot.

Before I knew it, I had checked off the last day. Two weeks had been a single hour, it felt like. Tomorrow we would leave for the train station. Raoul had purchased our tickets to Perros, packed our luggage so we could stay there overnight. We wouldn't be going there, though. I would have to get away from him at the station and, somehow, find Erik.

Likely, he would find me.

"Ready to take this brace off?" Raoul asked me in the morning.

"Goodness knows I am," I replied, already working at the straps.

He assisted me, then held my hands for me to stand, like he was teaching a baby how to toddle. The sensation was foreign, being on my own two feet.

"I feel free," I told him.

It had been a ball and chain to me. It had made me dependent on Erik for everything, and now I could live on my own.

Raoul took me out to walk through the garden again, this time properly. We sat down on a white bench by the marble birdbath, which was surrounded in budding rose bushes. Just as Raoul had wrapped an arm about me, a servant came out with a letter in his gloved hand. This he handed to Raoul.

"From the Comte, monsieur," the servant said.

"Thank you," Raoul replied, tearing into it immediately.

I gave him the privacy of reading it on his own. His brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "I'll need to speak with him in person is all."

"Where has he been?"

"Marseille... Everything is fine, though." He stood up. "I'll be back in a moment."

I didn't think to ask why. He was no better than Erik at telling me what was going on when it concerned me. Evidently his brother was not pleased that I had taken up residence.

I decided to wander around on my own. At least I would have a garden wherever Erik was taking me. Unless he was lying... but he wouldn't. He did honestly love me, and he wanted to make me happy in some way.

I had often wondered about what he thought of women. He must have spent most of his life with men, and his mother was horrible, so maybe he just learned that we were frivolous and vain. He honestly seems to think that if he gives me enough gifts, and a nice house, that I can be happy. What will he do when he realizes that that won't content me? Why does he even love me at all if I go against all he seems to know about women?

I put my head in my hands and sighed. Raoul came back out of the house and we resumed meandering. Later that day, he tried to accompany my voice on piano, but he gave up, as his playing was... awful. Maybe I had been spoiled by Erik's music, but Raoul simply couldn't make anything that even sounded like music.

Erik was right about that. If I had married Raoul, the music I had been shown and intoxicated by would be gone. I would have only my voice.

Before I could blink, Raoul and I were curled up in bed together. I had been affectionate with him, hopeful that my last night might be filled with nothing but love, but he wouldn't hear of it. I contented myself with resting my head on his chest instead. Maybe it was best not to go back to Erik too full of guilt, though.

I kept myself awake the entire night to savor Raoul's presence. I could feel him slipping through my fingers, and I wanted to make a memory of this, just this.

I watched the sunlight bleed through the curtains, pooling beneath. How I had missed the sunlight, yet now I wished it would go away.

Raoul stirred beside me, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"How did you sleep?" he whispered.

"Well," I lied, faking a smile.

"We should get ready. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Just tea... I'm a bit nervous of whatever memories might come is all."

"Just tea, then," he said, kissing me again.

Then he was gone. He would be gone forever soon.

The morning hurried by before I could grab hold of it, before I could imprint the touch of Raoul's lips in my mind's eye. We were headed to the train station. I was headed away from everything I knew, on a straight path towards the unknown. How anyone ever wanted to go on adventures was beyond me. So much could happen.

Once we arrived, I told him I was faint and needed to sit down. He helped me onto a bench. Then I said I needed water, and he went to fetch it for me without a second thought.

It was ten thirty in the morning. Already people were crowding the station, rushing by with luggage. I waited on the bench to be taken away. I waited like a good little captive.

I had legs now, though. Two working legs. I could run. I could run... but where to?

I stood up, and a hand snaked about my wrist.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **It seems a bit odd that Christine felt safer trapped underground with a broken leg that she does now. Psychology!**

 **But Erik is going to be a great husband? In dark fics that happens all the time, yes? We'll see what he does. He loves Christine, at least, he just... doesn't know what that means at all, or the fact that manipulating a person, especially one you love, is a big no-no. He's desperate as heck, though. It's a combination of "aw, poor guy who just wants love, give him a chance" and "Christine, run for the hills because you're more than a love object!"**


	11. Chapter 11: Uncertainty

I leapt to my feet, shutting my mouth to keep from crying out. Erik was standing beside me, wearing a half-mask the same color as his skin. It seemed to be of closely-woven fabric, but I didn't have time to examine it, as he wrapped his arm about me and started us away from where Raoul had gone. He didn't speak a word, and I followed him without protest. He pulled me along at a brisk pace, through crowds of people waiting for tickets, trains, or relatives. My feet were nearly dragging along the ground as I struggled to keep up with my fiancé. I glanced back to see if Raoul was following us. What a strange feeling it was, to wish I could see his face once more, then to be relieved that I did not!

We neared a sign that read _Bordeaux_. A train was already waiting, with glossy gray coaches, and a man in uniform nodded at Erik as we boarded. I had too many questions to bother with that, though I assumed he must have said that he was going to get his fiancée. That would explain why he had no luggage with him; he must have placed it onboard.

We headed to the back of the coach, into a room with two cushioned benches on either side and carpeted floor. There was a wide window inside as well. Our luggage was in the corner, and on top was my bird in its cage. It chirped twice in greeting.

"Figaro," I whispered, going over to him as Erik slid the door shut. I glanced out the window, to the people rushing to get to their trains, and I wished I was with them. As I reached through the bars of Figaro's cage to stroke him, he chirped and ruffled his blue feathers.

Erik and I still had not spoken a word to each other. He stared at me as I calmed myself with the bird, then I turned to him.

"You're here," he remarked, almost in disbelief.

"As I was told," I replied meekly.

"It was so quiet without you," he said, coming closer and extending his hand towards my cheek, "so cold and dark... I've never missed another person before-"

I blocked his hand with mine, "A-ask before you touch me."

He seemed puzzled. "You're soon to be my wife."

"You will ask me then as well."

"Does a husband have to ask his wife such things?" he asked, though I couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine.

"One who loves and respects her does."

He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Do you know how many times I have been rejected?"

He took a step towards me, and I stepped back in reaction. He continued his leisurely strides until I was cornered.

"I never had a kiss," he said, and I could feel the heat of his breath, "until you, never was touched with anything even reminiscent of tenderness..."

My heart leapt into my throat, as he was so close I feared he was going to force me to kiss him, here against a corner.

"T-that was why I kissed you," I told him.

He reached out to hold my chin, his gaze softening. My heart fluttered in my chest, but I did not draw away for fear his hand might land somewhere else instead. He was unpredictable, and I could not tell what he was feeling.

He said, "You don't feel anything for me but pity."

"That's not true," I replied.

"You kissed me because you pitied me-"

"I kissed you because I loved you, as a human being should love another human being. Regardless of what you've done, you deserve some basic human kindness and decency."

"Are we friends?" he asked quite suddenly.

"Friends?"

"We must be, of course. After all the time we spent together."

"I... Yes. We're friends."

"Marriages are based on friendship," he said softly to himself.

"They are," I agreed, but added, "and respect and trust. I almost see those as more important."

"Not fear, though. It keeps you from loving me as you might. Fear of what a man who looks like this might be capable of."

"You are capable of murder," I retorted, "and showed that with your actions."

"I don't want to discuss murders. They have no more significance in my life... The rest of my existence is going to be built around you. I have already devoted over a year to you and you alone. I only need you to overcome your fears and we can have a splendid marriage. We both know each other better than anyone else, are in awe of the music of the other... But if you are incapable of seeing past my appearance, I must mold your fear into something beautiful."

"I'm not clay to be molded," I replied as sharply as I could manage. "And I expect to be treated and respected as your equal in marriage, and if that does not happen, then yes, I will fear you and carve any love I have for you out of myself. Even you cannot turn fear into love."

He stared into my eyes, as if perusing their contents, before he released my face.

"You're right," he told me. "I can procure birds out of thin air, but I cannot make you love me."

"That's not... e-entirely true," I offered.

"How so?"

"It depends on how you treat me. Maybe you can't make me love you, but by being kind, at least I will like you. I liked you before, even when I was trapped. I did like you. I do like you."

"I've never been liked by someone," he told me. "But perhaps you're lying because you're afraid, and because you think I would hurt the only thing that matters to me anymore."

"You think I would lie to you about how I feel? I've overcome my fear of telling you my mind."

"Then tell me it directly. What are you thinking at this very moment?"

I took a breath. "I'm thinking about... everything that might happen, and how to prepare myself. I'm thinking of... the man I love, searching for me in desperation and thinking I am no more than a frightened little mouse..."

"You don't speak fondly of the man you _love_."

"Being your captive showed me that perhaps he is not as... perfect as I would have believed. You removed the veil from my eyes... and yet I would still take him over you in a heartbeat."

He took a step towards me.

"I will change your mind," he said coldly, making me shiver. "You even admit I am better than him in all ways but one."

"Yes. He does not kill people and laugh over their corpses."

"You want me to promise no more murders?" he hissed out, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me down to sit on the bench. "I have already as good as said no more, but now I promise it. The phantom is dead now anyway."

He released me, running a hand over his forehead. Then he adjusted his waistcoat.

I glanced out the window, then clapped a hand over my mouth at what I saw. Raoul was just outside, on the platform, surrounded by three police officers. He was looking around desperately as they asked him questions and took notes. His face had drained of color: even his hair appeared white rather than blonde. His features were taut with worry.

The police dispersed to search for me, and Raoul nearly shattered into a thousand pieces, but he took one deep breath, and followed them.

"Raoul," I whispered. "Poor Raoul-"

"Do not mention that name or refer to that person again," Erik said sharply.

"What will happen if I do?" I asked.

"I doubt we would want to find out... But don't cry," he insisted, as he must have noticed my eyes growing glassy. "Don't cry, there's no reason to."

"No reason? Would there be reason if _you_ were the one on that platform, searching for me?"

"But I am not."

"Raoul is-"

"No mention of him!" he hissed. "Not his name, nor his title, nor any reference to him."

"Or what?" I demanded, my eyes overflowing. "Are you going to l-lock me in a cellar when we reach our destination? Frighten me into submission?"

"No," he shook his head with insistence, "no, my little Christine, I wouldn't do that even if you tried to murder me. How do you forget that I love you?"

"I feel very loved!" I sobbed out. "On a train, headed away from e-everything I know, and being handled like a doll, like I have no heart inside my chest or brain in my skull."

"You're tired," he said gently. "Your mind is running wild with nonsense from it. Go on, lie down-"

"You won't even apologize to me?"

"What for?"

I had no words. I buried my face in the seat cushion, trembling with sobs. He went to shut the curtain.

"You didn't sleep last night," he said, "did you?"

I swallowed, "I slept."

"Not by your eyes and demeanor you did... I'll get a blanket for you. Try to rest so you can think clearly. I'm the same man you knew beneath the opera house, and you seem to have forgotten that..."

I folded my hands below my head, still shaking from various emotions. A blanket was placed over me, and a song woven into my ears, making my vision sun-kissed and blurry. I felt something brush against my face before falling asleep.

When I woke, my eyelids heavy, the curtains were still drawn. Erik was reading a book on the bench across from me, quite engrossed, candlelight flickering over his odd features. The mask made it look like part of his face was marble. I shut my eyes so he wouldn't notice I had woken.

He whispered something to himself, then stood up and walked over to the window. I heard his footsteps. A ray of warm light came through, like that of a sunset. He exhaled, but not in a melancholy way. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

His footsteps came over to me. I opened my eyes to face him, finding him staring down at me with half of his lopsided mouth creeping upwards at the corner.

"Good morning," he said, his features soft around his strange new mask. "You're beautiful even when you sleep."

"I'm hungry," I replied.

He blinked twice. "Yes, of course. You missed lunch... I'll be right back- do not go outside the room."

I nodded. He exited and headed past the other doors.

I was glad of his new demeanor. My earlier confrontations had dried me up for conflict, and I was willing to be permissive for a little while now. As a wife, I was determined to preserve myself, mind and spirit, but for now, those were worn thin.

I exhaled as I went to look out the window. There was such striking difference between the rolling hills, cliffs, and fjords of Scandinavia to the French countryside. I had always seen Scandinavia as a bright land; even when coated in snow, it glittered like gold. France was more subdued, with dull colors, old weather-worn buildings, save in the spring when the flowers bloomed. It was not the land of fairytales, the land of my childhood. How strange that the very land I had crossed into had shown my descent into reality.

I expect everyone wishes to be a child again.

The world outside the window was pink in the glow of the sunset, and I could see sheep in a field, endless grapevines, countless churches atop hills. When I glanced up, I found the heavens pink and gold, with glowing clouds encircling the red, dipping orb. I had always found refuge in the vastness of the sky.

The door slid open behind me. I turned around to find Erik, quite pleased with himself, holding a tray for me of my missed lunch.

"Thank you," I told him, taking it from him and sitting down on the bench.

He gave a brief nod.

"W-when will we arrive?" I asked.

"Half an hour... Some sheep were on the tracks, and that caused our delay."

"Poor things-"

"None died," he told me swiftly. "The train had to stop to get them away."

"Oh, good... How long were we delayed?"

"An hour."

My eyes widened. "A-an hour? For _sheep?_ "

"Haven't you been on a train before? No one understands the word 'time...'"

I continued eating. It was cold chicken and vegetables, but my stomach was collapsing with hunger, so I inhaled it.

"Do you have any requests," Erik asked me, "for tomorrow?"

"Is that the wedding, then?" I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

"Eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"And what requests?"

"If there are any gifts you would like, any little promises you want made. I'm happy to make them now, happy enough to be foolish."

I swallowed uneasily. "I-I have one promise I want made."

"What is it?"

"I... I'm going to be anxious all the while until we are married, and I would like to be calm after it, and relaxed... So I don't... that night, I... but I understand you have-"

"I know what you're trying to say," he told me icily. "Though I wonder why you still dance around the subject like you're as innocent as you were before. You've already behaved like a proper opera star, haven't you?"

"I didn't w-want to," I replied, wishing I had stayed silent. "I was frightened-"

"I believe you..." he said, bitter and caustic. "The first time you were _frightened_. And the second? The third?"

"O-only..." He would know if I was lying. I couldn't risk lying, "t-twice. Only twice."

"Only twice," he mocked. "Sweet, _innocent_ little Christine indulged her gentleman friend _twice_ after insisting she would never become a mistress, after flaunting her purity around the opera house like it was her dearest possession-"

"I never flaunted-"

"You know by now that I don't give a damn about your purity. But you will be my wife and..." he faltered, unable to hide the fact that he was desperate enough to beg, "In this year, whenever you choose, I only want to be with you once... I should ask for three times, more the other received, but I only want once. And I will let you choose when, save that it must be by the end of the year."

"Before the year is up?" I whispered.

"Before midnight on December 31st."

My glass of water tumbled from my hand, and he caught it, taking away my empty tray. I stared down at the floor, contemplating.

"I ask for very little," he told me. "And I will ask nothing more of you than this."

I kept my head down, deep in thought. _Little_. He thought he was asking little of me.

He sat down next to me.

"I missed you," he told me, as if trying to comfort me with his love. "I've never missed someone before, never even enjoyed someone's company for that long, nor even longer than a day, when I consider it... I missed your voice, the way you... ask me how I am, say good morning and goodnight... It's strange how I can miss something like that, even though it was the first time someone had ever said those words to me... I don't have to leave you ever again now, though. What a relief that is to know. Why, neither of us have to be alone ever again."

He waited for my reply. I gave none.

He cleared his throat, "How is your leg?"

"The same..." I replied.

"What do you mean? You can walk."

"I felt more free with it broken..."

He turned my face to his, sighing, "Christine-"

I pushed his hand away and wrapped my arms about myself. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him.

"Why are you acting this way?" he demanded. "You let me touch you beneath the opera house, and now you won't...? Is it because you wish I was-?"

The train squealed to a halt. I suddenly felt as if my brain was dissolving from my skull, and my head was floating up, up, up from the lack of weight. I was nauseated, too, and the world was spinning, spinning, like a little ballerina.

I hadn't said goodbye to Meg.

" _I'll get the doctor, monsieur," came the soft voice of an unfamiliar man through the fog._

 _"No need," Erik's voice replied. "She will come to. She's been ill for some time now..."_

I attempted to sit up, my eyelids still nearly shut, but Erik restrained me.

"You fainted," he said softly. "We're in Bordeaux now, on a bench outside the train."

I stared up at the sky. It was a cloudy gray. No more sunset.

"Are you certain there's no need for a doctor?" a man in uniform asked, the same voice as before.

"I'm fine," I replied frailly. "I-I forgot to bring my smelling salts."

Erik glanced down at me in surprise that I would aid him. The other man went away at this explanation, and Erik helped me to my feet.

"Take the bird," he told me, handing me the cage. "I have a brougham waiting."

It was a struggle just to move my legs. My shoes had turned to lead, my knees to iron, and I dragged them along towards my fate.

 _Be optimistic_. A part of me pleaded. _Maybe everything will turn out fine. He loves you at least._

I shuffled along towards the brougham. Erik helped me inside, onto the red-cushioned seat. He sat down beside me once our luggage had been loaded on.

"The house will suit you well," he told me.

I nodded, my tongue frozen.

"I had everything done in the way you like," he continued. "I know your tastes quite well by now."

I rested my head on his shoulder to make him be quiet. He inhaled sharply in surprise, then was silent as I had hoped.

My mind had cleared from before, and I recognized now that everything would not be _so_ terrible. I would have all my necessities, after all. I wouldn't be cold or hungry, and I would be loved, in a way. It was better than nothing. A terrible life meant poverty, didn't it? Being destitute? But those days- the frozen Swedish winters warmed only by the heart of my father's violin- those had been the happiest of my life.

I couldn't help but doubt a greater happiness would come again.

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 **Is Christine right to be so pessimistic? I wonder what's going to happen once they're married... because I haven't decided 100% yet, haha. I had better get on that. It should get a bit lighter, though. A little bit.**


	12. Chapter 12: Fearless

**This Christine has changed so much from the first chapters. She even tries to get Erik to emphathize with her this chapter, and you can guess how that goes**

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I found my fears dissipating from Erik's reaction to my head on his shoulder. He was who I had known beneath the opera house again, desperate for the slightest bits of affection, but hiding all his sentiments behind his half-mask. His eyes told all, though. Even if he was cold as stone, his eyes would flicker and soften with emotion.

It would be a lie to say I hadn't loved him beneath the opera house. Perhaps it was because he was all I had down there, and I was dependent upon him, but there had been love. No, I did not like being treated like a child, and yes, I argued with him and asserted myself, but when neither of those happened... There was just something to him that was nice, so long as I forgot about his crimes. There was a part of me that delighted in his little smiles at basic kindness, the way he doted on me incessantly. Perhaps it was wrong, but it was there.

I found myself closed to him now, though. My time with Raoul had sealed my heart. I couldn't bear Erik's touches now, even innocent as most of them were. He wanted to be kind and gentle, I knew he must, after what I had seen beneath the opera house. My greatest fear was that I might be wrong about him.

"How long until we arrive?" I asked him, lifting my head from his shoulder.

"An hour or so," he replied.

"Will we go into Bordeaux sometime?"

"If you want to..." he said softly, then added, "You must hold my hand, though, when I take you places."

"I don't mind holding hands," I told him simply, clasping his for emphasis. "You act like I might be upset over that."

He stared down at my hand in surprise. "You were earlier."

"I... was tired and afraid earlier."

"Then your words do not stand?"

"They do- they do. I still want to be asked."

"I've never heard of a man asking his wife to hold her hand."

"Not always with words," I explained. "You can hold out your hand, and I can accept it with mine. The same with kisses and such."

His eyes flickered. "Kisses?"

"Married couples kiss."

His lips began to form a word, but no sound came out. He exhaled, "I'm glad you're not upset as you were earlier, over every little thing."

"I'm not afraid now," I replied, "or tired... What will we do tonight?"

He stared ahead, as if there lay the answer to my question. He said, "There are books. I made sure the bookshelves were stuffed with all manner of novels for you. And my violin is there, and a grand piano in the drawing room, so we could play music... The piano is an exquisite instrument," he told me, shutting his eyes for a moment as if he could hear it. "You have ears that will be able to tell the difference. The sound is magnificent. When I played it, I could feel the music vibrating within me. A true instrument should become part of the musician, after all, and both should feel as one."

"My father told me as much, though not about a piano. I'm excited to hear it."

He smiled faintly. The last of my fear melted away for that moment. I rubbed my thumb against his hand, and he stared down at where we were joined, as if bewildered by it. Then he lifted my hand, and a kiss was planted on it before I could blink. I restrained myself from pulling away. It was just a kiss on my hand, after all...

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I'm fine-"

He had already removed his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I couldn't deny that the warmth was welcome, though I feared it an act of possession.

"Thank you," I told him. "But what about you?"

"I don't feel the cold," he replied.

We remained sitting like that for quite some time, bringing up little bits of conversation every once in a while. It was pleasant. He was shy with me, even more than beneath the opera house. Perhaps it was my change in attitude that had made him relax.

The brougham slowed as we came upon a cobblestone road rather than dirt. I glanced out the window to find houses all lined up neatly and lit by gas lamps. As we continued, the houses grew further and further apart, until we came upon one with a white fence about it, alone in comparison to the others, the edge of a forest directly behind it. We stopped in front of the gate.

"Here we are," Erik told me.

"Home," I replied frailly.

"Home," he agreed, unable to contain his joy at all of this.

He helped me out of the brougham, and I allowed him my arm as we went to the front step of the house. In the darkness, I couldn't tell the definite shape and color of it. I knew it was larger than we needed, but that was all.

He unlocked the door. I glanced back to see the driver removing our luggage from the brougham, then I followed Erik inside.

He turned on the gaslights, and my eyes widened. It was no de Chagny estate, but Erik was right that I hadn't wanted that. This modest luxury was still expensive for me, but... there is a delight in having a beautiful house to live in. I filled to the brim with this, my fear failing to overwhelm it.

He took my hand and brought me into the dining room, kitchen, living room, drawing room, study, then upstairs to the bedrooms. He was speaking excitedly now, pulling me around too quickly for me to take in the furnishings. I would have to truly see them later.

"Ignore the other two," he told me as he opened the door to a bedroom, his features gleaming around his mask. "They are only for show... This one is yours."

He pushed me inside by the small of my back, and my lips parted at the sight of it.

What person needed all this space to sleep? Why, I had a table and chairs in the corner, for some purpose. Everything was of dark, glossy wood, and the fabrics were floral. The curtains were a muted blue, the bedsheets quilted and the same color. The four-poster bed was not unreasonable, but twice the size of the one in my apartment. There was a great window with an pearl cushion beneath it, and this I wandered to, staring out at the vast gray sky.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked.

"What's not to like?" I replied. "I should be thrilled."

"Are you not?"

"I like it very much," I told him quietly.

"And I'll buy you dresses," he added, "dresses and jewelry, and pretty little shoes. Anything."

"Whatever makes you happy..."

I turned back to the window, sitting down on the cushion beneath it. Erik came over to me, and I patted the spot beside me for him to take.

He sat down silently. I reached out to remove his mask, and he grabbed my wrist.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking off your mask, of course," I replied, with a bit of irritation. "What else would I be doing?"

"What else," he repeated softly, releasing my wrist.

I slid my fingertips beneath the hard surface of the mask and lifted it up over his head. We stared at each other. In the dark, I could hardly even see his face. I had long since grown accustomed to the sight of it. No, it was by no means a pleasure to look at, but I didn't mind it so much now. Not so much.

Before either of us could speak a word, a glint of candlelight ran down Erik's cheek, the reflection in a tear.

How strange it was to be afraid of a man who cried from simple kindness.

I reached to comfort him, and he shattered fully, clinging to me as if I might disappear. I wanted to get away from his strong hands, but there was nothing to fear now. My shoulder grew damp from his tears, and I cried as well, out of pity for him and myself.

"You're crying because you're sad," he whispered against me.

"And you are not," I replied.

He pulled away from me, brightening as he cupped my face in his hands.

"You're going to be happy," he told me, almost pleading with me. "I can make you so very happy, if you would let me. What more could you want but all this? We have everything here, everything: music, comfort, love... Is there more to life than that?"

I thought back to Raoul, but his offer of marriage was unappealing to me now. Then I considered being onstage, my heart pouring out of me, and even that had lost its luster. It had never been about the crowds of people before me, but the music. I only loved the music.

Had this life been my choice, and I had no fear of Erik... I might have indeed chosen this. But I had not chosen this.

"I love you," he told me. "There's not much more one needs besides that."

I shook my head in agreement. "No. There is not..."

I glanced towards the door, pensive for a moment.

"Didn't you say the kitchen was stocked?" I asked.

"Yes, I have everything arranged to be brought to our doorstep so we needn't leave the house very often. A-and you won't have to laundry. I have that arranged as well."

"I'm only asking because..." I sighed as I stood up from the window seat. "Well, I should make dinner now, shouldn't I? It's quite late."

He stared at me in stupefaction, then rose. "Do you like making meals?"

"I don't mind making them, it's the cleaning up after that I can't stand."

"Then you cook, and I'll clean up."

I nearly laughed. "I thought you wanted us to be normal. In what world does a husband help with dinner?"

"I don't want us to be normal if it compromises happiness."

"Happiness..." I mouthed.

"And I've cooked and cleaned up meals for quite some time now."

"Well, then by all means, come help me."

...

When dinner was finished, Erik and I sat down in the drawing room, in front of the fire. It and a few candles illuminated the room. We were in separate chairs, both with coral cushions.

"Electric light appears dead," Erik said in the odd way he frequented, sudden and unrelated to anything we were doing at that moment. "Firelight has such life to it... And yet one does not catch things on fire, nor extinguish from a slight gust of wind."

"I want to talk about the marriage," I told him, instead of continuing his curious subject.

"What part of it?" he asked, brightening.

"Well, do you even know what marriage looks like?"

"I have seen it, yes, and I have read books."

"Well, I know quite a lot about it, from my parents."

"Your mother was dead for most of your life, though," he said simply.

It was evident he hadn't considered that I might react unfavorably to this observation. My eyes welled up from the realization that, no, I had no family, nor a mother-figure like Madame Giry anymore, or so much as a friend. I would never have any of those again. I began to cry into my hands, with my head bowed.

Erik was silent for a moment, evidently bewildered.

"Why do you cry for her?" he asked. "You hardly knew her."

"D-don't you cry," I replied through my tears, "that y-you hardly had one, either?"

He sat back in his chair, pensive. Then he replied, "I don't cry for it. I only wish I had gotten to her before the tuberculosis did."

"No, no, I mean... d-don't you wish you had a real mother? My father... h-he tried to make il for it, b-but... he couldn't replace h-her... But don't you wish you had one, too?"

His jaw tightened. "I wish I had a real face."

"I'm just trying to say that we both know the same feeling-"

"We do not!" he snapped, leaping to his feet. "You had a father who loved you! You had beauty to match your voice! I have had nothing until now, nothing! You acted like this beneath the opera house, like we know the same suffering, when you know nothing of mine! Do you think I wanted to be a murderer? I earned a living off blood! It was either that or pretend to be a beast in a cage, and I tried that, even, I tried it! I was tired of watching bodies writhe beneath my hand, tired! I put myself in a cage, Christine, my little angel, have you ever been in a cage? Like an animal at the zoo? Have you ever hoped to have coins thrown at you? I couldn't bear it! I would rather have starved to death than continued that. So I ran to the opera house, thinking it might be a sanctuary. Music was my only refuge, even then. I could forget everything when I sang or played my violin, _everything_. So made myself a home where no one would see me, just like they wanted, but where I could hear and play music, as I wanted. Ah, but then there was the ghost! The ghost came before me, you know, and if they wanted a monster, then I would give them one. I needed to make a living still, after all. And that was what they had always expected of me, to live in the shadows and make people shudder with fright. I had hoped that by giving them what they wanted, I might receive some peace at last, that I might content them... and then you came." His voice trailed off. "I loved you the moment I heard you sing, even when you first arrived, with your wings clipped, your voice was beautiful then..."

He was leaning over me, his hands gripping the sides of my chair. His chest was heaving from his earlier words, and I had curled myself up beneath his shadow.

"I couldn't be content then," he whispered. "I couldn't imagine a day without you, so I decided I wouldn't... And now you have all of it, all of my miserable life." Then he added bitterly as he stood upright, "I should ask for a _kiss_ now for telling you."

He did not, however. He turned on his heels and left the room.

I couldn't bring myself to follow him. The day had been long and exhausting already. I crept up to my bedroom and shut the door, my heart still pounding in my chest from emotion. But I wouldn't cry. I cried too often.

I opened my dresser to see if he had bought me any nightgowns. There was only one, with fabric soft as down and flowers woven into the sleeves and collar. The buttons were pearly glass.

I usually washed my face before bed, but I didn't want to go down to fill my pitcher. I went to shut my curtains before pulling back my quilted bedsheets. They were soft. Everything, it seemed, was soft.

This room was comprised of nothing but love. The house was not made for him, either. Had it been, there would be antique furnishings, I assumed, not the modern ones I preferred. My room and his would be the same, then. But no, he hadn't done that. He had brought me here because he didn't know how else to have love. He had prepared the house in the way he knew I would like because that seemed to be the only display of love he understood: gifts. I knew he would drown me in pearls and diamonds if I let him. Not because he wanted to see me in them, but because he knew those were supposed to make women happy. He wanted to make me happy, but not to the point of self-sacrifice.

As I turned over in bed, I heard the stairs creaking outside my door. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, barely muffled by the carpet running the length of it. He stopped outside my door for only a moment before continuing to his room, the one diagonal from mine. A door opened and shut.

I stared up at the ceiling for a while, deep in thought about the wedding tomorrow, about how to cope with Erik's joy when I would be full of despair. Then my thoughts turned to Raoul, likely still searching for me, perhaps tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep due to fear for me.

When I shut my eyes, they sealed with tears.

...

I woke with a start. Rain pattered on the windows like glass beads.

The curtains bled bright light, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the whole house. I wrapped a shawl about my shoulders, knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep with the heavens making such a racket.

I lit a candle and headed downstairs, thinking a bit of tea might be nice. I headed into the kitchen to heat a kettle.

There was a rumble of thunder as I sat down in the drawing room, exhaling through my mouth. It was nice to be alone for a time. I didn't want to think too much, though, so I went to peruse the bookshelf. Then I glanced over at the staircase, thinking I had heard a creak. There was no one, not even a shadow on the steps, so I returned to finding a book.

A flash of white light burst into the room again, followed by a quiet crackle. That was when footsteps rushed down the stairs.

"Erik?" I called.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, then put his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you stay in your room?" he demanded, coming over to me.

"Why must I?" I replied indignantly. "I can't sleep with this storm."

"I didn't know where you were! Your door was ajar."

"Where am I supposed to go? It's pouring down rain outside, and more than that, I might get struck by lightning."

He nodded, calming himself, "You're right, you're right. You're smarter than that..."

The kettle whistled from the kitchen. I went to remove it for the tea.

"Do you want some?" I asked him.

"I... suppose," he replied. "T-there should be biscuits in the cupboard over there."

I nodded. He left the room as I put in the tea leaves. I heard the scraping of a match, so evidently he was lighting a fire.

I wondered if anyone had ever made him tea before, but I didn't dare ask and upset him in some way.

When the tea was ready, I brought it on a tray I had found, and realized I was the image of a wife at that moment. It was disconcerting.

I set the tray down on the table. Erik was sitting in the chair he had earlier, with his hands folded in his lap, reminding me of a child trying his hardest to be obedient.

"Do you take sugar?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"Me neither, but you knew that already... Do you want a biscuit?"

"No."

I brought him his tea, then went and sat down with mine. He stared into the fireplace.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"I didn't..." he hesitated, "frighten you earlier, did I?"

"No," I lied. Then I moved the subject along, "I never spoke to you about the wedding."

He set aside his tea, then stood up from his chair.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, sounding weary. "Earlier you were resisting every little thing, and now you... make me tea and want to discuss our wedding."

"What else am I to do?" I replied.

"You want something," he said, pointing at me for emphasis. "That's why you're being agreeable. What do you want, then?"

"Nothing you will give me. But this isn't to get something. I'm just being nice."

"Even you wouldn't do that for nothing."

I set aside my tea with such force that a bit of it ran over the side. Then I stood up, my arms crossed.

"I know you've been wronged," I said. "I know you think everyone is a cruel, horrible person, but I am _not_. Don't you know me? You think I would lie to you? I didn't even mean to make you tea! It was just for myself, and then you came down, so I offered you some, like any normal person would. And then I only brought up the wedding because I know nothing about what is happening tomorrow! Nothing I did was even that kind!"

He was silent. I emitted something between a cry and a whimper as I turned towards the doorway. He grabbed my wrist.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "Sit back down, have your tea-"

"I want to go back to bed," I replied. "The storm quieted."

"I'll play music for you."

"Erik-"

"What would you prefer? Mozart? Verdi? Perhaps Berlioz-?"

" _Sleep_ ," I insisted, but I found his soft eyes and sighed. "Something of yours, I suppose. May I go to sleep after that?"

"Of course you may. I don't want you to waste your tea is all."

"My tea, of course," I said, but he didn't catch my sarcasm.

I suddenly wished I wasn't being so bitter with him. He only wanted to play music for me now, and what _music_. I could live off it.

The music made me forget everything, too.

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 **... down in flames.**


	13. Chapter 13: White

There were three knocks at my door. The sun was seeping in beneath my curtains as I opened my eyes. Figaro chirped from where his cage hung in the corner, greeting either the morning or the person awakening us.

"Christine?" Erik called. "You need to wake up, my dear. We need to be at the church in two hours."

I buried myself in my bedsheets and moaned.

"I made you a bath," he offered. "Come down before it gets cold."

I managed to slide out of bed, dragging my feet all the while. I went and opened the door. He was wearing his mask again, but the one that blended in with his skin. His malformed lips turned up on one side upon seeing me.

"Good morning," I told him, not even attempting to feign joy as I rubbed sleep from my eyes.

"Yes, good morning," he replied, almost trembling with excitement. "Truly it is... I have your bath made in the drawing room, and your wedding dress is set out in there as well."

I nodded, following him downstairs into the drawing room. The fireplace was lit and the air in the room was humid from heating water.

"Make sure it's not too hot," he told me as he gestured to the bathtub.

I didn't make my indignation known at this childish advisement. I found myself too weak with dread.

"I'll go close the doors," he told me.

He shut them behind himself as he left. I decided to face away from them while I bathed so that if he decided to peek in, he wouldn't see any more than my back. Then I realized it would be better the other way, as then I could see the door opening. But I decided upon the former; I would rather not know and give him no chance to see me.

I sank into the water. The warmth soothed my trembling, and I exhaled.

Everything wouldn't be so terrible. I had already spent three months with Erik, and I knew that he did love me. At least there was that. He had never harmed me before, either, not even when I had removed his mask for the first time. He had only cried out like one possessed until I feared he might do all matter of terrible things to me, but never even raised a hand against me. Even so, there was no doubt that he was capable of violence. He knew little else. He had told me as much, that all his life he had fought against the world. Could he simply relax into domestic life and detach himself from his violent past? I doubted that was possible.

The warmth in the water began to fade. I scrubbed myself with bar of soap he had left for me. It covered me in the scent of flowers and honey.

I fancied I heard a creak, and spun my head around to see if he had opened the door. To my relief, there was no one.

He had never been untoward to me beneath the opera house. My fears mostly stemmed from when I had been entranced, as I knew he had touched or admired me then in ways he should have not. What would he do when I was his wife, though? I found no solace in his promise that I could choose my wedding night. He could easily coerce me whenever he wanted. I knew he would never force me, but that gave me little comfort. He had no qualms about manipulating me into whatever he wanted.

I was helpless. The realization crashed over me. I would be even more helpless in two hours. The truth of the matter was that the moment we were married, I wouldn't be his captive anymore. I would be his wife under the law, and he could interpret that in a thousand different ways.

I stepped out of the bath and dried myself off. My mind had worn out of frightening thoughts, and now it was blessedly blank.

Upon slipping into the dress, I realized immediately that I would need assistance. The back laced up. My eyes were already stinging with tears.

"Erik?" I called.

"What is it?" he replied from just outside the door.

"I... I-I need help with the dress."

There was a moment of silence before he pushed the doors open. I had my back turned to him.

"I-it needs to be laced," I said.

"I see," he replied, his voice oddly quiet. "Hold up your hair for me."

I did so, and I felt him tugging at the laces. I kept quiet and still, hoping he didn't see the tears running down my cheeks. Him helping me dress was too much for me to bear. It didn't matter that he hardly saw anything, there was something intimate about helping someone dress. It was something a husband would do for his wife...

"Is that too tight?" he asked.

I shook my head, casting a few tears to the floor. He spun me around to face him and I gasped from his sudden it was. I found his eyes soft with concern, though, not red with anger. He brushed away the rest of my tears.

"Why must you cry today?" he asked miserably. "Of all the days?"

"I'm so afraid," I replied.

"But why? I've already told you how wonderful everything is going to be-"

"For _you_ , Erik," I insisted tearfully, my voice weak, "everything is going to be wonderful for _you_. You'll have everything you ever w-wanted. Everything I ever wanted will be gone."

"You only ever wanted music."

"Music isn't enough, though. If it was, you wouldn't have wanted me."

"Of course music isn't enough," he agreed, his voice still soft. "You have my love. I would give all the music in the world to have someone love me as I love you. I would give the rest of my face for it, even."

There was no retort for me to offer, as he was right. He would throw away everything for the obsessive love he felt for me to be directed at him.

He brought a veil over to me and began to set it on my head. I pulled away, realizing my hair was a mess, but he grabbed my arm to keep me where I was.

"My hair!" I told him, starting to cry again. "I-I need to put it up f-first."

He released my arm, and I rubbed where it now ached. He glanced down at his hand, unused to gentleness, then at my eyes, before refusing my gaze.

"I suppose you should brush through it," he said in a monotone, "but leave it down like you always do."

I hurried upstairs, crying quietly to myself. He hadn't meant to hurt me, hadn't known my intentions, but even so, his strength had frightened me. My arm still throbbed dully from his grip.

I exhaled as I shut the door to my bedroom behind me. Then I sobbed for a while, not caring if I made us late because I couldn't restrain myself. I couldn't stop the tears from pouring out of me, for whenever they stalled, I thought of a new pain. My mind turned to my foolishness with believing in an Angel of Music, then my foolishness with Raoul. When those tears ran dry, I considered the life I had been taken from, and my eyes welled anew. Even when this was finished, I remembered my father. I could never cry enough for him being gone.

Erik knocked on my door. I had lost track of time, but I had wanted to.

"Christine?" he called gently. "You need to calm yourself so we can leave."

"I'm sorry," I replied, "b-but I can't. I can't stop c-crying..."

He pushed open the door and came over to where I sat on the bed, my face soaked with tears. He handed me a handkerchief.

"Don't think about anything," he told me. "Anything that upsets you, just push it away, then you needn't cry. Everything will turn out wonderfully. You'll see... It hurts me to see you cry, though, even if you won't later."

I was too weak to do much more than nod at that point. He helped me over to the table with perfumes, pins, and brushes on it, and a rather large oval mirror. I looked into my red and puffy eyes as Erik tried to tame my hair to its usual state. I winced as he accidentally tugged on a curl.

"Gently," I whispered.

"Forgive me," he replied, and I felt his hand run through my hair before the brushing resumed. Then he ceased. "Is that to your satisfaction? You'll be concealed under the veil, of course, so it doesn't matter too much."

I stared at my reflection. My vision fogged so that I saw nothing.

"It's fine," I told him.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "I've never seen anyone or anything that surpasses you."

I only saw my irritated eyes in the mirror, wide with fear.

He was silent for a moment, as if overwhelmed. Then he said, "For the wedding, your name is Ophélie DuPont."

"Ophélie?" I said weakly. "Are you Hamlet, then?"

He chuckled, "Of course not, my dear. I'm Éric Rocher."

"That's not your real name, though, is it?"

"No... and in private, we can have any last name you fancy."

"I quite like mine..." I whispered. "I don't want to give it up."

"But a husband doesn't take his wife's last name. It's unheard of." I looked up at him with my sad eyes, and he changed his mind. "I... suppose I have no issue with being Erik Daaé, though. Better to have a real name than a false one... You must sign the document as Ophélie Rocher, of course, but in private, your name won't change. You must have an alias in public, though."

I hadn't expected him to agree so readily. Perhaps he simply wanted a real name, and he had already seemed to care little for typical social behaviors.

"Come downstairs," he said. "We need to leave shortly."

What passed next can only be described like a dream, but not a good one, or a nightmare, somewhere in between. Crying had worn me down until I was hardly aware of myself.

It took me a moment to realize we were in a brougham, I was in such a daze. I looked out the window to find a small town with buildings of cream-colored bricks. Spring had barely dissolved the winter here; only a few buds dared peek up out of the earth, and the trees only boasted specks of green. I assumed the town might be lovely in the summer, though. Everything was lovely in the summer.

We stopped in front of a little white church with a sharp steeple. My heart plummeted.

Erik said something to me as he extended his hand. I heard not a word, but reached to accept it before he saw how much I was trembling.

Upon entering the church, we found there were only three people inside. One was on the edge of the pews, his head balding and bowed, hands clasped in prayer. There was a woman in black near the front, clasping a bright-beaded rosary. The last was the bishop, in the center. He had a bright, clean-shaven face and white hair, like Père Noël without a beard. He brightened as he saw us.

He greeted us, then turned to retrieve a book. He had us stand across from each other as he spoke words I did not hear. I repeated the words without thinking. I saw Erik's lips moving, but no sound issued. I couldn't move; I couldn't breathe.

Erik reached for my hand to slide a ring onto it, a plain gold band. Then I was handed one, and I did the same, not meeting his gaze. The brief ceremony finished with the removal of my veil, likely to reveal my eyes fighting against tears. Erik bent down and kissed my forehead. He only waited a moment before we were out the door and back into the brougham.

I took a deep breath, my lower lip trembling as I leaned back on the seat.

"You're my wife," Erik whispered, his eyes wide and his mouth barely moving.

"I am," I replied, tilting up my chin so I would keep my tears in my eyes. "I'm yours now, j-just like you wanted."

He buried his face in his hands and bent his head down over his knees. It took me a moment to realize he was crying. I stared at him, the man who had done so much to me, now weeping with happiness, and found my own heart being wrung dry by him. I couldn't help it.

"Sapphires," I whispered.

He took a moment to collect himself, poorly, before replying, "W-what?"

"I-I've always liked them best, if you wanted to get me a gift."

"A necklace?" he asked. His eyes were as irritated as mine had been earlier.

I reached out to brush my hand against his back. "Yes, that would be lovely... Y-you can cry into my dress, if you want. I'm certainly not going to wear it again."

He buried his face in my skirts, and I watched him do so for a little while before thinking I ought to comfort him in his happiness. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he visibly shuddered at the contact.

When he had cried himself out, he fell silent. Neither of us spoke the rest of the way home. He was either overwhelmed or content, and I had no words for what I was feeling.

I had hoped he might let me be alone at home for a while, but the moment we arrived I realized I was sorely mistaken. He wanted to spend every moment with me.

He gave me champagne in the middle of the day, and I was so miserable that I helped myself to too much. It brightened my mood considerably. I had never liked being a bit intoxicated before. It helped me forget what had just occurred and what might happen next.

In some odd fashion, we ended up on the sofa together. The light bliss of the champagne was passing away, and I found myself quite tired, so I simply rested my head on Erik's knee. He had worn out his words, so he was wonderfully silent as he stroked my hair. I hardly minded.

"Are you asleep?" Erik asked me, gently enough not to wake me if I was.

"Nearly," I replied.

"Do you want to take a nap? I can go buy your necklace while you sleep."

"Oh, yes, please," I told him with all the excitement I could muster up. It was a convincing amount, as I wanted to have a while to reflect without interruption.

"Then I'll leave now, my dear."

I sat up. He rose awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how to.

He was at the door when I called, "Goodbye, dear."

He hesitated, bewildered that I would call him such a thing. He opened the door and left without a word, likely stunned. I heard a _click_.

I went upstairs to change into one of the dresses Erik had bought for me- a blue one with white embroidery on the edges- then I wandered the house for a time, taking it all in. I truly wasn't that tired.

I found the living room far too large for what we required. The walls were covered in jade green wallpaper, the furniture a rosy red. There was a game of chess set out and a piece of art on the wall. It was of a bowl of fruit, with pears, grapes, and an apple. All glowed against a dark background.

I went into the study next. It was barren, with only a desk and chair in the middle. The curtains on the window in the back were an evergreen shade, and so were the walls. Nothing about it interested me, though, so I shut the door and continued upstairs.

Erik had never shown me his bedroom. I wouldn't have gone into it with him there, but now that he was gone, I released my curiosity.

I expected to find a mess upon opening the door. Erik was prone to bouts of inspiration that could bury his desk in ink and crumpled paper, which often fell to the floor as well. To my surprise, though, I found the place spotless. The bed was made, the floor and carpets clean. But then, we had only been here for a day.

His room was crimson. The wallpaper was that hue, with a gold pattern like chain-link. He had quilted bedsheets like mine, but the same color as his walls. His curtains were green and red, and he had one large window that looked directly into the forest. His furnishings were the same dark wood as I had with the same glossy finish.

There was one slightly less tidy place, though; his desk. There lay three sheets of paper stacked haphazardly, a pile of crumpled drafts, and his pen was lying out in the center. There was a pencil nearby as well.

I indulged my curiosity and picked up the papers. Two were compositions that seemed to be the same piece. It was titled with my name. I found the paper beneath these to be a sketch of me in my wedding dress. Only, it wasn't me at all. In it, I was smiling. I had round, full lips, and they were wide to reveal parchment-white teeth. There was almost a shyness to my eyes as well, the timidity of a bride-to-be. There was no fear, no regret, nothing but delight, as he felt. He wanted me to be as happy as he was. He wanted what he could never have.

It broke something inside me to see that picture. I put the papers back the way they had been, then I went into my own room. Figaro chirped in greeting, and I told him I needed to cry first before I could feed him. Once I had said that, however, I couldn't cry. My eyes were still dried up from earlier.

I went to shut my door, then I opened his cage so he could fly out. He did so eagerly, but glided down due to clipped wings. I scooped him up from the floor and placed him on my shoulder. He chirped twice. I hoped that meant he liked it there.

He walked around to the back of my neck, and I giggled as he clambered up to the top of my head.

"Do you feel tall?" I asked. "You should try sitting on Erik's head. You might get vertigo up there."

He chirped again. I adored him for a while until I heard the door open downstairs. I placed him back in his cage and brushed out my skirts.

"Christine," Erik called.

I headed downstairs to him. "I'm coming."

He had a white box in his hands, and his face gleamed with delight. I found myself unable to smile, but I made an attempt. He extended the box to me, silent and anxious.

I opened it to find a silver necklace with a large sapphire dangling from the center, and smaller ones on either side, like drops of rain. They sparkled far too brilliantly. I had only ever seen such fine jewelry on the wives of opera-goers.

"I..." I whispered. "They're lovely. Like stars."

"Then you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, but..."

His face fell. "But what?"

"When will I ever wear them?"

"Whenever you want, my dear. Here, let me put it on you."

He didn't wait for me to reject this idea, so I stood still for him as he clasped it around my neck. He stood back from me to admire the effect.

"It suits you well," he told me. "Exceptionally well."

"Thank you," I replied, "but I think I want to take it off for now. This dress is too plain for it."

"Yes, it is far too plain for you, my dear," he agreed, though he had not heard me exactly. "I'll take you to be fitted for new ones tomorrow, if you want."

"If I feel well enough, I suppose."

"Are you falling ill?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "I can make you something to help-"

"No, no, nothing like that... I might be a bit melancholy is all."

"Then by all means, we must go shopping tomorrow to keep your spirits high."

"Shopping won't help."

"Music, then."

"Perhaps music..."

I placed the necklace back into the box.

"I'm going to take this upstairs," I told him.

"I'll come with you."

I nodded passively, beginning to drag myself up to my room. My eyes kept welling up and draining, threatening to overflow, but I kept them from doing so. I couldn't cry in front of Erik anymore on my wedding day.

"We need to have lunch," he told me as I set the necklace down on my dresser. I stared at it in admiration.

"I'm not hungry," I replied. "But I'll make you something if you want."

He waved away my words. "I'll take you somewhere to eat, my dear. A bride doesn't cook meals on her wedding day."

"But where will we go?"

"Just a café," he said happily. "I've never eaten at a café before."

"You haven't?"

"Cafés are for meeting with friends or loved ones. I have neither."

"Had," I whispered.

"Had," he agreed, his voice choked with emotion. "And now I have you..."

"We can do lots of things together," I told him. "We can have a little routine at home, little activities..."

"We'll never have to be alone again."

"No... we will not."

He extended his hands to cup my face, his fingertips brushing against my jaw.

"You don't have to worry as much with me as your husband," he said. "Not about children or chores, or even if I'll fall out of love with you. Nothing to worry about at all."

I didn't tell him what I had to worry about. I simply nodded. He pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Please ask next time," I told him.

"You would say 'no,'" he replied. "I can kiss my wife, can't I?"

"I won't say 'no...' I just want to say 'yes.'"

"Would you kiss me back, then?" he asked with bitterness in his voice, as if he expected me to decline.

I held his face in my hands to pull him down into my reach, and I kissed his unmasked cheek. His eyes were wide with surprise.

I wrapped my arms about his middle at this, beginning to cry. He stiffened.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You didn't think... I-I would, you... thought I would l-lie to be cruel."

He patted my head. "Do you cry out of pity, then?"

"Maybe..."

"Then perhaps pity is not so terrible," he replied, placing an unsteady arm about me. "You don't need to cry, though. Don't cry."

"I can't..."

"You cry too much. It's not good for you."

"It is good... It makes me feel better w-when I'm done."

He felt where my lips had been. "I hope so..." Then he glanced at the clock. "We should leave."

"I'll put up my hair, then-"

"I don't want your hair up."

"But Erik-"

"You look so beautiful with it like this, my love," he told me. "After all, no one paints a goddess with her hair pinned up."

"I'm not a goddess."

"I don't want to argue with you on trivial things," he said, becoming mildly irritated. He extended his hand to me. "Come with your lovely hair as it is."

I gave up for that day. He was too exuberant for me to fear him.


	14. Chapter 14: Unrequited

**Longest chapter yet in this fic! Also, I just updated Captive in a Sanctuary, so check it out if you didn't see it updated (I say that because there are no new reviews yet, so maybe something went wrong with notifications).**

 **I think I should add a slight trigger warning for this chapter, too, even if it's probably obvious.**

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Erik took us to a quiet little café near the edge of town. It was nearly three in the afternoon now, so those who occupied tables had long since finished their meals and were sipping wine with their companions.

I was curious to see how Erik interacted with other people. Would he maintain a façade? Be condescending and impolite? Or perhaps mimic perfectly what he had seen others do?

We sat down at a table outside, under a white umbrella. There was no wind, so even though it was cool, it was pleasant to sit there.

"What would you like?" Erik asked me, looking at the menu.

The words swam in my vision. There was a dull throbbing in my forehead, like the beginnings of an awful headache.

"You like seafood, don't you?" he offered.

"I do," I replied.

"What about mussels?"

"Are they in season?"

"It's the end of it, but I'm certain they have some."

"It might be expensive, though."

He chuckled, "We're not living on a chorus girl's wages at the moment, my dear. You can have _foie gras_ everyday for all I care."

"Oh, no." I shuddered in disgust at the thought. "I'm just not that hungry is all... Do you like mussels, though?"

"I do."

"Do you want to share them with me?"

He stared at me in complete silence for a moment, then he said softly, "Share?"

I nodded. "I don't want to waste them is all."

He stared down at his lap in disbelief, then he brightened as his eyes met mine. "We can share them, then..." His features softened around his mask at the thought. "What would you like to drink, my dear?"

"Just water."

"I'm sure they have a decent selection of wines. You should try some Bordeaux."

"I had too much champagne earlier... My head is starting to hurt from it."

"Oh..." His face fell. "But it made you laugh so. I haven't heard you laugh like that since..."

"It's alright," I told him, placing my napkin in my lap as we were brought some baguette and cheese. "I wanted to laugh, too."

Erik ordered our food and a glass of wine for himself. He wasn't exactly rude, but he didn't waste words on the server, who was just as curt in return. There was nothing that out of the ordinary about the interaction, however, certainly nothing to raise attention to us.

I nibbled on a piece of baguette. My gaze grew unfocused and my thoughts cloudy.

"Don't you want some cheese?" Erik asked. "I thought you liked brie."

"I'm not that hungry," I replied. "And cheese doesn't agree with me today."

"You seem tired."

I nodded.

"I thought you took a nap."

"It's not a tiredness that goes away with sleep," I said softly.

"You've exhausted yourself with worrying," he explained to me, as if I didn't know. "And worst of all, worrying about nothing. You shouldn't allow yourself to do so anymore today. You need to read a book when we get home, or something of the sort, to distract yourself."

I nodded, my mind and gaze drifting again. He did not pull me back with conversation. He sipped his wine and ate the bread and cheese, appearing quite happy to simply be there with me, to be eating lunch with his wife.

I had wondered why he would take me out in public so soon, but now I realized I couldn't escape even in full view of everyone. No one here would likely know who Christine Daaé was, and if I did start raving, Erik could pass me off as excitable, or they could think me a bit mad. He was also my husband, and no one could inquire about me over whatever he told them. They would take his word over mine instantly. There was no trust required for me at all, really, even though I had promised not to speak to anyone else. That though, I feared, was more an act of possession than to protect our alias. He had always wanted my voice all to himself.

The mussels were brought out to us rather quickly, likely because we were the only ones eating at that hour. I thanked the server, as I knew Erik wouldn't and I had decided politeness was more important than his advisement. I feigned that I hadn't meant to do so, but he didn't seem to care. The idea of sharing food had brought back the same happiness as earlier. A quiet smile hid behind his features at us having lunch together like a proper married couple.

I was relieved when he finished and we could go home. My eyelids had grown heavy and my head throbbed worse than ever.

"Do you own this brougham?" I asked as we got into the same one as earlier.

"There are some available for those who live in our neighborhood," he explained. "I pay for services, and we happened to have the same one three times."

"Oh..."

"Do you want to rest?" he asked. "How is your head?"

"It's fine," I lied. "Just make me something for it when we get home, please."

"You don't need to say 'please,' as if I wouldn't otherwise."

"That's not what the 'please' was for," I sighed, feeling too tired to explain this yet again. "It was just polite. I know you wouldn't let me have a headache."

"I thought... Never mind," he said, waving away his words.

I shut my eyes, and I found I didn't want to open them again.

"You can lie down," he offered.

"There's not enough room," I replied.

"Place your head on my knee, then."

I hesitated for a moment, but I didn't see any issue with it. I had done the same earlier, though I might not have without the champagne to increase my trust. Now, however, I was fully aware as I set my head on his knee. A spark ran through him that I had actually done so, and I glanced to his hand and found it quivering as it reached out for me.

"Don't touch me, please," I asked.

His hand retreated back to his side. My rest was undisturbed.

When we stopped outside the house, he reached down as if to carry me, thinking I must be asleep. I shot upright, and he removed his hands.

"You weren't asleep," he said softly.

"I just needed rest," I replied. "L-lots of rest."

He nodded. "Let's go inside."

I followed him into the living room, and he gestured for me to sit on the divan. It was striped: cream-white and coral.

"I'll get something for your headache," he offered.

I spread myself out on the cushions. He turned back to look at me from the doorway, and a certain light I had never seen before came into his features. It soothed me to see a genuine expression from him.

"I've pictured you there so many times," he whispered, almost to himself. "I've even drawn you, lying just like that, with a book, or nothing at all, and content. But in a much finer dress, with pearls in your ears and a pendant around your neck..." Then he said directly to me, "I'll get you some tea with your medicine."

"Thank you," I replied.

I glanced to my side. The chess board caught my interest. The pieces were glossy and new. Maybe once I had taken some medicine I would be well enough to play it with him. I wanted to content him with simple joys so that he wouldn't press for more.

He wasn't behaving so terrible at all, really. It could be an act of manipulation, this gentle demeanor and quiet happiness, but... I didn't think even _he_ could think of doing such a thing today. He was childishly happy. All he had ever wanted seemed to have come true.

He brought me a cup of tea and the tonic for my headache. I hoped he might let me rest alone until I felt better, but he went to grab a book from the shelf and sat down in an armchair across from me. I downed the tonic and sipped my tea. It had a hint of lemon.

When my headache started to fade, I went to get a book. I glanced over at Erik and found that he had long since set his book aside. He was looking at me, his hands clasping as if they couldn't find a comfortable position, but he didn't seem to be thinking of anything important.

I procured a novel, then resumed my place. Erik began walking in and out of the room, restless. Sometimes he would disappear for a little while, before coming back in to sit down. He brought in a half-filled glass of wine for himself, but didn't take a sip.

"Are you alright?" I asked, after I had finished a few chapters.

"Why do you ask?" he replied.

"You seem restless."

He paused for a moment. "Yes. I am."

"Why?"

"Have you ever pictured something in your head, a scene, with every detail and every sound created?"

"More often than I should..."

"Then there is your answer... I'll get you some more tea-"

"Erik," I hesitated, "dear, we'll settle in. You and I both."

He stared at me for a moment, then his features softened. "We will, won't we? I'll get your tea."

I exhaled. His odd manner at the moment was likely because he was shocked that everything had come into place how he wanted. It would take him some time to adapt to this sort of life, though... But what if he didn't? What if he couldn't help but kill again, regardless of any promises made?

He returned with another cup of tea for me. I found my eyelids growing heavy at the first sip, likely from the warmth of it and the fire. After another couple of sips, I set my tea aside and curled up to fall asleep.

...

When I woke, I was alone. There was a white knitted blanket over me. The fire before me had died down, but it still emitted warmth and up from the embers rose muted flames.

I stretched out my arms above my head, then pointed my toes and sighed. I sat up rather than rising from my comfortable place. It was warm where I was, safe. How could I feel so secure?

Erik's footsteps echoed down the stairs. He was humming a melody I did not recognize, then adding a few words under his breath to the tune. Our eyes met through the doorway, and he smiled at me in his strange way, like the flickering of a candle. Only half of his face showed an expression; the other remained hard and cold.

I wished he would remove that mask and wear the white one, or even none at all. It was strange that I didn't know which I preferred.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked me.

"Quite well," I replied.

He looked me up and down, then said, quite simply, "I love you."

I blinked. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.

"It's such a strange thing," he said softly, almost to himself, "that phrase. Three words can carry more worth than a thousand, more joy within them, and more pain... Don't you find it odd that people love when it hurts them so much?"

"Does it hurt you to love me?"

"It did hurt, hiding behind a glass, able to see but not to touch, not to _feel_... to hide behind an imaginary figure... And then," he continued, his voice growing caustic, "when you cursed my name on the rooftop, shunned the very man who had given you everything you held dear. You betrayed me in every way, giving me _nothing_ for giving you everything... No one would have cared about you without me. You know that. I was the first person to see your potential. Without me, your voice would have been locked up in your broken heart, withering away like your spirit... I saw you before all of them. They were deaf to your potential, blind even to your beauty. But how we mocked them, didn't we?" he said, almost chuckling to himself. "I made them envious of you at last. You are more than they could ever hope to be, in every way... But... in retrospect, I wish I had kept you hidden. No one else appreciates you as I do, not even after your triumph."

"No..." I admitted. "For my talents, they do not, but-"

"And no one can love you as I do. I will never betray you, never leave you, never raise a hand against you-"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I added miserably. "I would rather you had no promise to break rather than breaking one."

"I never hurt you beneath the opera house!" he insisted, horrified by the suggestion. "Not once."

"Not with your hands," I whispered.

He ignored me. "You'll love me eventually, in some way. Two people live together long enough, it's only a matter of time until they either kill each other or fall in love."

"You don't think two people can simply like each other?"

"For a time, but people are such volatile creatures: hot-or-cold, not lukewarm. They want a side to choose."

"Eventually, maybe..." I looked at his mask. "Could you not wear that?"

"You prefer the white one?"

"That's not exactly what I-"

"I'll go get it," he said, heading upstairs as he spoke.

I buried my head in my folded arms and sighed. His footsteps came back downstairs quickly. When he found me melancholy and pensive, the light in him from earlier dimmed. He reached out to touch my shoulder, barely grazing it.

"Why are you upset now, my dear?" he asked, his white mask gleaming. "I did as you asked, didn't I?"

I glanced up at him and managed to brighten myself up a bit. He gingerly patted my head.

"Do you want to see some magic tricks, my darling?" he offered. "To make you laugh? Those will cheer you up, one moment."

He went off into the kitchen. I glanced over at the clock to find that it was six in the evening.

I wanted to be happy here. I could be, that I was certain of, should everything fall into place. If Erik was respectful of me, and I grew fond of him again, the possibility remained. But to live with a man who had kidnapped me and whose hands were dripping blood, and to try to give him what he wanted... It was a moral dilemma. Does a murderer deserve love if he has never known it? And what form of love?

He came back into the room, which was basked in the rosy glow of sunset. One of his hands was clasped shut.

"Is it a card trick?" I whispered.

"No," he replied, then he added hastily, "unless you want it to be."

I shook my head. "I don't care."

"Good... I have performed this trick for royalty, you know, but you are a far finer audience."

I couldn't smile, but I attempted anew to brighten myself up some more. He took a cloudy white marble from his pocket and set it in the palm of my hand.

"Keep it enclosed in your hand," he said, "so that neither I nor you can see it."

I did so, then I glanced down at my closed fist, waiting for an instruction or something to occur.

"Now look," he said, prying open my hand.

I was too used to his tricks now to gasp, but I could feel my eyes widening. The marble had turned purple! The marble which I had felt in my hand, held there, had been switched with another without my notice!

"That's incredible," I whispered. "H-how did you, without me knowing?"

"How did I what?"

"Oh," I sighed. "Well, what else can it do? Can I request colors?"

"Certainly. Shut your hand and think of one, but don't say it aloud or the magic won't work."

I smiled weakly. "Alright, then... I'm thinking of one."

"Don't tell me. Just open and close your hand as you please."

"Erik, you can't be that good-"

"I certainly can," he insisted, almost irritated by my remark. "I've trained for years and performed for the most esteemed imbeciles in the world, and they helped me prepare for your requests and curiosity, questions they never thought to ask... Now go on, open your hand again, see if the magic worked."

I did so, and found it to now be dark blue, like the ocean. I had thought of that to try and fool him by using a specific shade, but of course, my attempt had failed.

"There's no way on earth," I whispered. "How many marbles do you have in your pockets?"

"None. There's only the one in your hand."

"But how can you read my mind?"

"Through your lovely eyes," he replied. "They're so profound... Go on, think of another color."

"What if I open my hand and close it very quickly?"

He shrugged, "Let's see what happens."

I did so, ten times, and it turned into a mix of colors: a rainbow. I shook my head in disbelief.

"It almost scares me," I told him, "that you can do such things."

"Fear can be exhilarating."

"It can..."

"Better to have a little fear than none at all."

"I-I don't know about that."

He sat down at the edge of the divan. I stiffened.

"I love you," he told me, shifting towards me.

My pulse quickened with fright, and I shied away from him, drawing my blanket tighter about me.

"You're wonderful," he whispered. "Everything about you is wonderful..." Then he glanced down at my hand, and reached out. "I do need my marble back, unless you are fond of it?"

I returned it to him. Upon removing the marble, he placed both of his hands on mine, savoring my touch as he caressed them. At first I didn't mind it, as the action seemed innocent enough. Then I realized I was cornered against the back of the divan should he choose me to be. My pulse grew heavy in my veins. He started kissing my hands, gently and thoughtfully, his own trembling as he did so.

I stood up hastily, holding the blanket to my chest with one hand.

"Let's play chess, I offered. "A-and maybe after dinner, we can play music-"

"Why did you stand up?" he asked in a hurt tone that boded disaster.

I faltered. "I-I thought-"

"Am I unworthy of your hand?"

"No, of course not-"

"Any other pair of newlyweds would be entwined together by now and I simply want to touch your hand!" he cried, startling me into walking backwards as he railed with wounded fervor. "I should demand much more of you! Considering what you've already done- outside of marriage, mind you! And you won't give me anything that you gave _him._ But he isn't your husband! I am. I deserve everything you gave him and more. Why, I should be furious with you! Any man in his right mind would punish you in some manner for such a betrayal! But no, no, I give you jewels and take you out to lunch, let you rest, soothe your headache. But why should I, when you give me hardly anything in return? So if I want to touch your hand, it is mine to touch! You are _my_ _wife!_ "

I nearly fell over as I stepped back into a little table. The objects resting on it quivered, and I heard one topple over as I winced.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded. "I was frightened-!"

He pushed me down onto the carpet by my shoulder. For a moment, I was too shocked to scream, and my mouth was slack and dumb with confusion. But that was only an instant, as soon I was kicking and shrieking as he held me on the floor, almost rolling around with me. His hands were in my skirts, pulling and tugging. I tried to shake him off, but he hardly noticed.

"Stay still!" he cried, starting to roll me back and forth with his hands.

I glanced over at him, bewildered, thinking, strangely enough, that this was an odd way to go about violating someone. He finally managed to tear off my skirt, the top fabric of it, and by that time I could do little more than flail. My mind was ruined from fear.

That was when I smelled the smoke. That was when I glanced at what he had torn off me, and found the blue fabric burned black. I looked at the table I had backed into. There was a candle upon it, broken into two pieces, the wick holding them together by a thread and the flame now extinguished. Evidently I had caught fire.

He had been trying to put it out.

He released me, breathing heavily from fright. "Are you alright? No burns?"

I was silent for a moment, stunned by my realization. Then I started bawling into him. My knees were too weak with fear for me to stand. I grabbed the lapel of his jacket and clung to him, flooded with relief and the aftershocks of fear.

"I need to check you for burns," he whispered, unaware of how to react to me. "I doubt you can tell yourself, the state you're in... My dear?"

I continued sobbing. He placed an arm beneath me and one around my waist.

"You're out of sorts," he told me as he picked me up. "Let's get you dressed in something else."

He brought me up to my room and set me down on the bed. I let him look at my leg where I might have been burned.

"Your stocking isn't singed," he informed me, "so I doubt you are... You know I wouldn't let you be hurt, my dear. Why did you panic so much?"

I shook my head. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, my love?"

"What was happening."

"So that was why you were so distraught," he whispered. "You know I would never harm you, though."

"But you do it to everyone else."

"They don't matter," he said, as if that were a perfect answer. "No one else matters but you, because they don't care about me, and neither do they care about you... They only cared when they heard you sing."

"You only cared then."

"For a time..." he replied, pensive. "But when you spoke to me, without song, your voice was so soft, and even though you don't have it when you sing, your little accent was the sweetest thing. You still have one sometimes with certain words..."

"I should change," I told him.

"Change? Why should you change? I love you how you are-"

"No, no, change clothes." I gestured to my dresser.

"Oh... of course. Just into your nightgown so that you're comfortable... I'll start making dinner."

He shut the door behind him as he left.

I was still unsteady from earlier. My legs trembled when I stood, and my stomach was cold and restless. I put on a slip and then my nightgown, taking care to fasten all the buttons to the top. Even though, logically, that didn't mean I was any safer, I relaxed from it.

When I came into the kitchen, the pan on the stove was sizzling. There was a browned pink fish in the center.

"Are we having salmon?" I asked.

"Isn't that your favorite?" he replied, adding a sprig of rosemary.

"I like it very much. I'm so hungry from earlier."

"Good."

"I'll set the table," I told him, starting to open cabinets to see where everything was.

He turned back to the fish. I found plates and napkins first, then I looked for silverware. The first drawer I tried to open wouldn't move.

"Erik?" I asked. "Why is this locked?"

He glanced at it. "It must be stuck is all... The silverware is in the one next to it."

"Stuck? But what's in it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"I'm not asking why it matters, I simply want to know if I should try to get it open."

"No. It's not of importance... Go sit and wait for me."

He turned back to the sizzling pan. I finished setting the table and sat down at the opposite side as Erik would be. The table was twice as long as it was wide, like we would be entertaining company at some point, which was ludicrous.

He came out with a plate of potatoes and vegetables, then the fish, and sliced bread. He stared at our seating arrangement for a moment.

"Why are you so far away?" he asked. "Surely married persons don't sit so distant from one another? Move your place next to mine."

I hesitated only a moment before doing so. I simply didn't want to be where he could touch me.

"Do you want potatoes?" he asked as he took my plate.

"Yes, please," I replied.

I was quite used to him getting food for me like a child. He handed me my plate, then proceeded to fill his as I said a silent grace.

We ate in silence for a time. I refilled my plate in that interval, as the lack of food earlier had made me ravenous. As I took a sip of wine, I hiccuped.

Erik chuckled, "Don't eat so fast... I'll get you some water."

When we were finished, he told me to go pick out some pieces for us to play. There was a whole bookshelf full near the piano, organized by the composers' names. The middle was almost exclusively Mozart, though there was a Meyerbeer or two among them. Erik thought himself above all of them or an equal, and I... couldn't possibly disagree.

"Have you ever written any pieces for me?" I asked.

He came into the room, drying his hands with a cloth. "I aspire to, and I do have a draft, but it is unpolished. Just pick one from the shelf."

"I can't decide."

"Well, do you want a challenge?"

"No."

"A duet?"

"Yes, I think so."

"A sad or joyful tone?"

"Somewhere in between."

"Then I have your piece."

...

I went to bed early. I had decided to sneak downstairs to sleep rather than do so where I was more vulnerable. It was mostly due to the fact that he knew I had been with Raoul that made me so fearful. He could become restless at night, think on that, and if he became infuriated enough, I had no doubt he wouldn't hesitate to break his promise. It was more likely that he would rationale his actions by merely "convincing" me, but I didn't want to know what that might entail.

Logic slips at night. Every creak of the house from wind outside, or the scuffling of some small creature, made my heart burst with fear. The odds of Erik entering my room grew steadily in my mind, and any security I had felt earlier melted away. It would be so easy for him to come in and lock the door behind him. My mind ran wild with scenarios, ones I tried to escape from, but I could never escape from him.

Eventually, I heard him coming upstairs. My body trembled uncontrollably, like my bed was a block of ice. His footsteps ceased outside my door, which he began to push open.

I shut my eyes so he would think me asleep. I couldn't calm my shaking, but I hoped he wouldn't see it.

He came over to the side of the bed that I wasn't occupying. I felt the weight shift, but the springs hardly creaked. I feared my heart might be going fast enough to kill me.

He lied down beside me, on top of the blankets. He simply lied there. I wondered what he was doing, as my mind couldn't comprehend anything more than my horrifying imaginings. But no, none of those were occurring. He lied there, beside me, on his back. I could hear his breaths. They were ragged, like he was holding back tears.

That was all he did for what felt like hours, but it must have been less than ten minutes when he stood up from beside me. He came over to where I lay, and I knew he was staring down at me. I could feel his gaze even with my eyes closed.

"I love you," he whispered.

And that was all.


	15. Chapter 15: Protection

**I messed up consistency (thanks yugiohep) so I went back and changed a bit right after posting.**

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When I woke, I found Erik in my room. He was wearing his white mask and his usual impeccable attire, and in the process of placing something on my nightstand. I sat upright, then my vision swam and my stomach lurched.

"Good morning," he told me.

I took a moment to regain myself, pressing my knuckles to my forehead.

"Good morning," I replied, turning to him. "W-what's that?"

"Marigolds," he said, gesturing to a pot of soil, which he had just placed beside me. "I thought you might like to have some up here, with you."

"That was very thoughtful of you."

He brightened considerably at this, then he cocked his head in confusion.

"Are you quite well?" he asked.

"No," I replied, clasping my stomach next. "Not at all..."

He placed his hand on my forehead. "No fever, that's good... What do you feel like?"

"My stomach is unsettled."

"No headache?"

"A little one... Could you get me some water?"

He nodded, turning to go do so. I suddenly realized I was going to be sick, so I rushed to grab my washbasin and clutched it to my chest. I sat back down at the edge of my bed, bent over the bowl in case I required it.

He came back upstairs with a glass of water, then pulled it to his chest when he saw me.

"You poor thing," he said, coming to my side. "I'll tie up your hair so you don't ruin it."

I nodded. I felt like if I spoke, the contents of my stomach would come barreling up my throat. He started pulling back my hair with pins.

"Perhaps it was something you ate," he offered.

"Don't talk about food," I pleaded, already having difficulty myself not thinking of my meal last night.

He stroked my cheek with his thumb. "Do you want music to distract you?"

I nodded, and he hurried off again. I assumed he was retrieving his violin.

My stomach settled for a moment, and I leaned back onto my pillow. This was only for a moment, though, as I jerked upright and clung to the basin once more. I almost started to cry.

Erik's footsteps echoed through the hallway. As I expected, he came in with his violin and sat himself down at the edge of my bed.

"Do you want to make a request?" he asked.

I shook my head, leaning back over the bowl with my eyes filling up. Was it going to be one miserable day after another in this strange marriage?

There was the hum of strings being strummed for a moment, silence, and then the start of the first piece. It was a bit of Vivaldi. I could recognize certain composers by now, due to Erik's obsession with them. He often critiqued their techniques, but most often only those of opera composers- all except Mozart, that is. He was the only one spared Erik's ruthless criticism. Whenever Erik critiqued my voice, he was always gentle about it, unless I wasn't improving. They received none of that. He tore their pieces apart with his words until I was stunned at his enmity. Perhaps it was because he couldn't be a famous composer that he was so cruel towards those who were. He wanted them to appreciate their good fortune and make use of it. He should have been one of the most celebrated men in the world, but due to his face and his awful upbringing, his music was only ours to know.

What _music_ , though! Whenever I heard it, I had no doubt of his right to be so demanding of other composers. With the violin especially, his every technique possessed no flaw. His arm and bow moved as if one, while his other hand danced across the strings without any show of effort. Even his expression was hardly ever tense. Through this, it was evident that music was his escape. The only time when his features grew taut and his eyes shut in concentration was for when the emotion of the music required such. Nothing he ever did was forced or awkward: it all flowed with grace and elegance unparalleled by anyone I had ever seen.

His playing did indeed distract me, sight and sound. I shut my eyes for most of it, though, letting myself drift. I almost forgot my stomach, the bowl in my hands, so engulfed was I in what he could create, as if I were in an entirely different world full of perfection and beauty.

Then it finished. The last note trembled in the air with his vibrato.

"That was lovely," I told him.

My stomach lurched again, and I bent over the basin, thinking this time I would actually require it. My body must have been toying with me, however, because it remained empty. I whimpered.

"Don't stop playing," I told him.

He hastened to continue.

...

I stayed in bed the whole morning before I felt well enough to get dressed. As my only plain dress had been burned, I had to put on the pale blue one he had bought. It had lace around the buttons and the fabric felt like silk. I told Erik I shouldn't wear something so fine, as I feared I might ruin them, but he replied that he would be buying more for me soon anyway. It was like he was endlessly wealthy. Was he stealing, perhaps? He had before, with the managers, so I had no doubt he might do it again. I found I didn't care so much now. At least he wasn't killing.

I managed to eat some rice for lunch. He continued distracting my through the afternoon, with tricks, music, and books, until I began to feel better that evening. My stomach was by no means content, but I didn't feel the need to have a bowl on hand anymore. We played chess then, multiple times, and I lost every match, as I was accustomed to. Then Erik let me win one, though he pretended like it had been by my own merit.

"Are you going to bed early tonight?" he asked me as he set up the board again.

"No," I replied. "I'm not that tired."

"Even though you're unwell?"

"I think I just ate something last night that didn't settle with me."

He nodded, "That seems like the most likely explanation... Let's hope you feel better tomorrow. I need to take you to buy new dresses."

"I hope I feel better, then, as well," I replied, with all the false excitement I could conjure up. "Could I have some plain ones, though, or are they all going to be like this?" I gestured to the one I was wearing and tugged at the fabric.

"Plain?" he remarked, as if insulted. "You're not plain, so why should your dresses be such? Why should they not emphasize your beauty?"

"To show me off?"

His eyes narrowed. "Your beauty is not for anyone else. They don't deserve you."

"And you do?"

"No one deserves you, that is quite clear, but I am your husband, so you are mine."

"Then you are not showing me off to others?"

"Not for their delight," he chuckled. "Never for the delight of anyone but you. I want them to envy you for everything that you are. I want them to see you cherished more than they could ever hope to be, decorated with jewels to illuminate your beauty, and dressed splendidly. Though women are mostly valued for their beauty, and you possess an extraordinary amount of that, I want them to see your talents and kindness as well. They should want to be all that you are." His voice turned insistent. "I will make them treat you like a lady rather than some chorus girl, and I want their envious eyes on you always."

"I don't want to be envied," I told him sadly.

"You should have been born ugly and with few talents, then, or perhaps only ugly."

"You're not ugly."

He actually laughed, bitterly and cruelly, as if I had told a twisted joke. "Then the sun goes around the earth, Christine. Or are you referring to when I wear my mask?"

"I don't think anyone is ugly based on outside appearance alone."

"That is the definition of beauty, outside appearances... and I doubt I have any inside me, either. You say that often enough."

"But you do. Like this morning, when you brought me marigolds, and then you cared for me when I was feeling ill... Love is beautiful." Even if you don't understand it and feel more of an obsession than love. "And no one is entirely ugly."

"The way your mind works is so interesting," he told me quietly, as if intrigued. "I've never found a person whose mind always thinks the best of others. Some would call that naivety, but I... I love your mind. I love all of you."

He reached out for my hand, and I didn't wait for him to ask for it, rather choosing to assert my choice by placing mine in his immediately. His eyes widened in surprise, and his mask rose a little with his features. Then he bent his lips down to the back of my hand.

A strange creature inside me, something akin to both pity and an indescribable form of love, bid me lean down to kiss his forehead, the one part of it left uncovered by the mask. He inhaled sharply in surprise, and I remained there for a time before parting.

His eyes found mine. They opened wide to explore what I was feeling inside, but evidently couldn't comprehend what they saw. He raised a hand to where my lips had touched him.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice wispy.

"I... I don't know," I replied honestly, quite surprised myself.

"Pity?"

"Maybe a little bit."

"What else? What else do you feel?"

"Love, but a different form than you would prefer."

"I'll take any form," he told me, his voice quavering. "A-any... Excuse me, I... I need..."

He left just like that, without another word. I knew he was going away to cry, and it surprised me that he didn't want my comfort. A part of me enjoyed giving the starved man affection, though, or a mere gentle touch. All he seemed to have felt were blows.

"Poor Erik," I whispered aloud.

...

As I lay down for bed that night, I wondered if Erik would do as he did yesterday. He did indeed come in, sooner than he had before, and he asked me, softly, if I was awake. I kept my eyes shut and my breathing slow.

The weight on the bed shifted as it had before. He lied down on top of the blankets, on his back, silent and still. I kept myself awake, waiting for him to leave, but he did not. Oddly enough, I did not fear him. I even thought I could risk pretending to roll over in bed, just to see how he would react.

He leapt up the instant he heard me shift over, and he pulled the door shut as he left. Evidently he did not want me to know of his presence.

I couldn't offer for him to sleep beside me, though. It made me too vulnerable. Him stealing this without my knowledge was far different from me offering him a place in my bed. I didn't mind this, as long as he didn't touch me.

I let myself fall asleep.

Mere moments after my eyes had shut, I found myself in a room made of solid stone, with one wall comprised of an enormous mirror. I stared into my own eyes while my face rippled like water, then I glanced down at my stomach. It swelled up, expanding infinitely. I feared it was some sort of parasite, so I screamed for help. No one came. I continued growing and growing until I feared I would be smothered by my own body. I was pressed against the walls, crying out for someone, anyone to hear me.

That was when I jerked upright in bed, my forehead damp with sweat. I buried my head in my hands to collect myself after such an odd dream. Then my mind spun and clicked with a painful possibility that it had alerted me to.

Could I be with child?

I tried to dismiss the idea. After all, I _had_ had my monthlies... but the last one had been odd, with no headache or tightness to my abdomen, and it had been at an unusual time. There had also been only splotches that day, and no more. Did that mean something? I had blamed it on anxiety, but... now I was unsure.

My stomach was well enough that I could pretend I was fine that day. I didn't want Erik to suspect anything. If he found out, it would prove that Raoul and I had been together when I lived with him these past weeks. Though Erik had known that I had been with Raoul twice, I hadn't specified when, and perhaps he thought those were both before I had been abducted. I had no doubt he would be furious if he found out, or was simply even reminded it. But certainly most of his fury would be directed at what had become of it. His mind moved so quickly that he would likely be suspecting it now. I had to be careful.

"Do you want to play chess?" Erik offered me after a light breakfast.

"Yes, very much," I replied, going to sit down at the board by the white pieces.

"I advise you to move a knight first. You succeed more when you do that."

"I agree..."

We played in silence for a while. I took whole minutes contemplating where to move, but Erik would do so immediately. It was bewildering, like he knew where I would go and had already planned for it. There was a maddening aspect to his genius.

"You're improving," he told me in the middle of the game.

"I'm glad you think so," I replied absentmindedly, finding myself increasingly distracted by the possible child growing inside me.

"Do you want to go buy dresses after this?"

"I would..."

He glanced at my pieces, then back into my eyes. "Move your queen."

"It's not fair if you help me-"

"What if I'm lying?"

I sighed, "All right..." I then realized what he was saying, and placed him in check, beaming triumphantly.

"Maybe you'll win twice," he commented, placing his head on folded hands.

"You let me win last night, and this time I had help."

"You used to ask for that," he told me, smiling to himself. "But I will neither confirm nor deny your accusation... You do know that is check-mate, yes, not check?"

I blinked. "But your pawn-"

"Since when could pawns move backwards? Are you distracted by something that you have forgotten such a simple rule?"

"A little, I suppose... You let me win again, though."

He shrugged, "I suppose it's nice to lose sometimes... Come, let's go buy you some dresses."

He extended his hand to me, and I took it. There was such joy that came into him at the touch of my hand.

...

When we arrived in town, he linked my arm with his as we walked down the sidewalk. I would have preferred simple hand-holding, but I didn't think raising a fuss about it was that advisable. Why did it matter, anyway? There was little difference.

"Do you see any shops you like?" he asked me.

They all had windows out front that peered inside to reveal fine dresses draped on mannequins. There was a striped one I fancied, blue and white, with glass buttons. Erik took me inside this one to be fitted. A lady lead me to the back to take my measurements. I lifted up my arms and stared ahead, suddenly realizing I might not fit into these new dresses soon, if my suspicions were true.

"Do you have any requests for the fit?" the lady asked.

"No," I said softly.

"Then we should have your dress ready in two days, unless you want to purchase another?"

"I'll ask my husband."

The name tasted odd in my mouth. My husband.

I went out to Erik, who seemed to pacing a little as he waited.

"Do you want to pick one out for me?" I asked.

He blinked. "Pick one... for you?"

I nodded. "If there's one you like."

He glanced around. "No. None here save the one you chose. They're all puffed up in odd places save that one."

The lady who had measured me crossed her arms with indignation at his comment..

"The blue and white one only, then?" she asked.

"Yes," Erik replied.

He paid half the price, as we would pay the rest when we received it. He proceeded to take me to countless other shops, and I purchased more than I could ever need. The only article of clothing I had any real interest in, though, was stockings: striped ones, checkered, or any pattern in vivid colors. While other women adored shoes and jewelry, stockings gave me more delight than either. Erik was glad to buy me something that I actually seemed to care about.

Then, after that, he insisted on buying me pearls.

"I don't need any," I told him.

"Ladies wear pearls," he replied, "in their ears and around their necks, even on their clothes."

"But I don't need any... I will wear a brooch, though, if you want to buy me one of those."

"A brooch? Do young ladies wear brooches?"

"Some do, and I want to."

"Then by all means." He gestured into the jewelry shop.

A man greeted us and showed us to a glass case with a number of brooches, all set on black velvet. They were mostly black or gray ovals outlined in silver, with the white image of a woman's face in the center. But there were flowers as well, their glass petals lined with little pearls or jewels, and a silver bird upon a nest of vines.

"Which do you prefer?" Erik asked.

"The bird is lovely," I replied.

"Is that the one you want, then?"

"Yes... I think so. The flowers are too ornate, and the others are rather similar to what everyone wears."

"Then the bird is an excellent choice," he agreed. "We don't want you looking like everyone else, now, do we?"

He went to go pay for it. I continued eying it through the glass. I had never thought I would be living a life where I was able to have anything I wanted, and yet nothing my heart truly desired.

It was removed from the case and placed in a cushioned box, which Erik handed to me. He was so happy to be giving me things I wanted. I almost wished I wanted a thousand different objects, but I had never wanted much.

We headed home. My mind reverted back to considering what to do about the possibility of a child. I needed to think up ways to protect him or her. Earlier, I had merely been thinking deeply on the subject, but now I needed a solution, and I realized I had no choice but to act quickly. Erik would find out any day now, whether or not my suspicions were true, I had to prepare for the worst. His reaction, I had no doubt, would be violent. He would be furious that I carried any memory of Raoul, and what I feared most of all was that he might try to get rid of it. A lesser fear was that he might torment me over it for some time until his anger ran dry. All were likely possibilities.

The realization of what I had to do crashed over me. I was suffocating just thinking about it. I gasped for air, but there was none, nothing but my own terrifying new knowledge.

 _I had to pass the child off as Erik's._


	16. Chapter 16: Deceit

**Why do I like to cause Christine, my favorite character ever, so much misery? It remains a mystery...**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I started thinking through different possibilities, considering which was most likely to fool Erik. The very idea was laughable, though. Fool Erik? I must have been insane! Because he would most likely see through me, I would need a plan for that as well.

At first, I considered pretending to have fallen in love with him. I didn't have the time required for that, though, and besides, he would never believe such a thing. There was no possibility of me acting well enough to convince him. I had always been a better chanteuse than an actress anyway.

Then I thought of simply asking him for a baby. I could say that I feared being lonely, or something of that nature, and that I had always wanted a child. He knew I had never expressed any desire for children before, though, so that would fail miserably as well. That was not even mentioning the fact that he would never permit a child of his in the world, I assumed.

My last idea was far simpler. I would tell him I wanted to fulfill my promise to him now rather than waiting for the end of the year. That seemed the most logical. I could say that I wanted it to be over with, maybe request something for my nerves, and he could do whatever he wanted then. He would take that explanation without a second thought.

The worst part of all of this, though, was that I regretted making love with Raoul the second time. It had been foolish in many ways, what the possibility of a baby, as he did not think we needed to prevent one, as we would be married soon, but also as me not realizing how much he had changed. I didn't even know if I wanted to have his child now. I did still love him, certainly more than Erik, but a part of our love was broken, as he had changed in the three months I was away. He had become too protective of me, almost like I couldn't be trusted, like I was a child. I had savored his protection before, but that was when he had trusted and respected me as an equal. The two weeks I had spent with him hadn't made me feel that way. I had been loved and loved in return, but not in the way I craved, the way I likely would never experience again.

None of that mattered, though. I couldn't change what had happened. This was _my_ child, and to Erik's knowledge, it would be his, if I could manage to convince him. All that mattered was me protecting this possible child from Erik's fury.

There was so much risk, though, so much to lose. All trust he had in me could be gone in an instant, even the love he felt. He could see me as part Raoul and part myself, and therefore hate me. Or I could be doing all of this for a child who didn't exist.

I wore myself down with these thoughts, these plans, this _folly_. He would never be fooled. I knew that, and yet I had to try. The risk was worth it. I had to keep telling myself that, over and over, until I could believe it.

"My dear, are you reading or daydreaming?" Erik asked me, glancing over at me from the piano.

"Hm?" I said.

He scratched a few notes onto the score in front of him. "You haven't turned a page in over fifteen minutes."

I glanced down at it. "I don't know... I'm just tired."

"You're always tired," he said softly, but not in a way to soothe me. "And you haven't eaten very much for three days now."

"I have a right to be full of melancholy. I've been taken away from my home."

He thought for a moment. "Three months ago, yes. But you have been with me for some time now."

"Not married to you, though."

"You need to realize how fortunate you are rather than pity yourself for reasons you should not."

"Fortunate?"

"You have no troubles to speak of, no fear for your future, and what you desire most: music. That is not even mentioning how much you are loved."

"But I am not happy."

"That is your own doing," he said sharply. "You could be happy if you only let yourself. The only sadness you should crave is that of the violin."

"You think I want to be sad?"

"Naturally. You don't want me to be happy. That's how people work, they make those they dislike miserable even at the cost of their own happiness."

"I don't want to make you miserable."

"Then why must you always be sad?" he demanded. "No matter what I do!"

"It's because of what you did that I am sad!"

He slammed his fist onto the piano keys. "I have given you everything you could ever want-"

"But I didn't want anything but my freedom!" I exclaimed. "That is all I have ever wanted, and you took it, thinking I would be sated with jewels and music, but I will not! You should know me better than that by now."

"You are a woman, my dear," he said coldly. "You are supposed to marry and have children, or else face public scrutiny. You never had any freedom, and you would not wish for it if you knew what it truly was."

"Well, you know nothing of freedom, either," I told him, my chest alight with indignation.

"I have traveled around Europe and Asia, of my own volition," he retorted, "and I would consider that freedom."

"You had no other choice but to be on display, though-"

"Do not speak to me of that!" he cried. "The fact of the matter is that you should be happy here, and the only reason you are not is because of your own stubbornness!"

My lower lip quivered. I turned on my heels and stormed upstairs to my room, slamming the door in my wake.

I buried my head in my hands as I sat down on my bed. What was I going to do now? I had to make amends or else he wouldn't believe me tonight. The reminder of what lay ahead made a shudder expand to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I couldn't do this. I wasn't strong enough. Already I knew I would be trembling uncontrollably, likely crying as well. The idea of being so intimate with a man I did not love, and worse, a murderer, was too much to bear. But I wasn't looking out for myself; I had to protect this possible child. My own foolishness had created it anyway, so I had no right to forgo my plan. I would go back down to Erik and make up something to convince him I was no longer upset with him.

It was my own fault I had to endure this. I had to protect the result of my foolishness by sacrificing what had created it.

...

That night, I waited for Erik to come lie down beside me on top of the blankets. I listened for his footsteps, and they began their approach after he assumed I must have fallen asleep. My heart accelerated with dread.

"Are you asleep?" he whispered, loudly enough that I would hear if I wasn't, quietly enough that I wouldn't hear if I was.

Upon hearing no reply, he came over to lie down beside me. I turned over onto my side, and he inhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet.

"It's all right," I told him. "I know that you do that."

He stood there in the darkness, unmoving. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I... I'm anxious."

"Anxious?" he asked gently. "Why would you be anxious?"

I swallowed. "You said I had to choose my wedding night before the end of the year."

He was silent for a moment. "That was our understanding."

"I... I want it over with."

He stared at me, his eyes widening in the darkness. "W-... when?"

"N-now," I trembled out.

Perhaps he had died. He gave no sign of having heard. He barely moved. Even his chest ceased expanding with his lungs and throbbing with his heart.

"Right now?" he whispered.

"Y-yes, but... will you give me something?" I asked.

"No."

I blinked, stunned. "N-no? Nothing for my nerves?"

"Oh, oh, for your nerves, yes, of course, I thought you were asking a favor... W-wait here."

He went away as silently as a ghost, likely in disbelief. It must have been a surprise indeed that I would say such a thing, but he seemed to believe me. Perhaps he wanted me too much to care, either.

I waited in agony. I feared I might cry, and that could change his mind, so I had to keep my tears bottled up inside. At least he would be bringing me something to calm me. How strong would he make it, though?

His footsteps came up the stairs. My limbs stiffened and my heart pounded against my ribcage. He came into the room with a cup clasped in his hands. Was he trembling? His body appeared to be swaying, as if he were caught in a strong breeze.

"What changed your mind about waiting?" he asked, placing himself gingerly at the edge of my bed.

"I can't explain," I replied, reaching out eagerly for the cup.

His hands were trembling rather violently now as he extended it to me. He watched me drink it. My muscles began to relax, and my heart's tempo grew steadier.

"Now?" he said, his voice frail.

It took all my strength to nod. He stared at me for a moment, at the buttons of my nightgown, before proceeding to undo them. I stared up at the ceiling rather than his eyes, ashamed and afraid. His hands fumbled with the fastenings, as they quaked worse than ever.

"You're hiding something," he whispered, his voice faltering as he removed his hands. "Don't think you can fool me."

"F-fool you?" I said.

"But what are you trying to conceal? Why would this be a solution that you would be willing to take?"

"I just want to not dread it later. There's nothing to conceal."

He glanced down at me, then got up from the bed. "No. Tell me now."

"I'm being honest," I pleaded. "I swear-"

"Tell me now or there will be consequences!"

I began to cry. "There's _nothing_. N-nothing. You were just... kind to me the other day, and I... I don't know, I just want it done."

"That wasn't our agreement, though," he told me, his hand fidgeting at his side.

"W-what was?"

His cold demeanor broke from my trembling voice and the tears running down my face.

"Don't be upset," he told me gently. "I'm not upset with you, how could I be now? It's only confusing that you would have changed your mind so quickly... But our agreement was not for you to take me reluctantly... I want the same, and I will wait for it if I must."

"The same?" I whispered.

"As what you did _before_."

I brushed the tears from my eyes. "I can't. Y-you never said that before-"

"Pretend. It's dark, pretend with me."

He was pleading with me. Pitifully, even. I couldn't believe he was asking me such a thing, but at least he had given up his earlier need for an explanation.

"Don't make me," I whispered.

"I'm not making you do anything," he told me gently. "You can wait."

"But I can't."

"Can't?" he inquired. "Why can't you?"

"I-I already said I would. I can't change it now."

"What sort of monster do you think I am? Have you changed your mind or not?"

I shook my head. "Not... I will. I've gone too far now."

"Is that your final decision?"

"It is."

He began to tremble anew. "Then I may kiss you?"

I nodded. He cupped my head in his hands and brought his lips to mine. I couldn't bring myself to kiss him back, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He was as clumsy as he had been before. He wasn't upset by that fact at all, though, and I preferred it. I wanted him to be clumsy and innocent.

I hoped it was over soon.

...

I lay awake in bed that night, beside him, in my shift, my eyes wide open as I stared up at the ceiling. Hours ago it felt like I had woken up from some feverish dream. Beside me, Erik made noises in his sleep- moans, whimpers. He moved restlessly, pulled the blankets away, until I found myself completely exposed to the cold air. I shivered and my eyes stung with tears.

"Erik?" I pleaded miserably, trying to rouse him by gently shaking his shoulder. "Please wake up, Erik. I'm cold."

He stirred, his eyes opening lazily. A terrifying light came into them, one that pierced my heart with fright. Before I could react, or even cry out, he had grabbed me by the throat and pinned me down against the bed. I gasped for breath, and I tried to scream without the air to permit it. All I could do was claw at his hands. They were iron, unrelenting.

My life was draining beneath his hands. My eyelids grew heavy from lack of oxygen, and my lungs were caving in. My mind was so panicked that I thrashed madly, without thought, unable to accept death. His eyes stared into mine with hatred and fury.

That was when he suddenly released me, breathing heavily with fright. I gasped for air, sobbing and choking.

"Oh g**," he whispered, horrified. He repeated that phrase again and again with increasing terror. Then he said shakily, "I thought you were... I didn't..."

I tried to speak, but my voice was a hollow breath. I continued sobbing. Instead of attempting to comfort me, Erik left the room, breathing heavily and running his hands through his hair.

I felt my throat. It was tender even to the brush of a fingertip.

At least I never had to worry about sleeping with Erik again, as this could be the outcome. A violent life would no doubt lead to violent dreams.

He shuffled back into the room, his face drenched with tears.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

"No," I croaked out. "You nearly... k-killed me."

He shook his head as if still shocked by what had happened. "No, no, I tried to kill _her_ , and I... I couldn't _see_... Are you hurt?"

"My throat," I whimpered.

He gave a cry like a dying animal. "I shouldn't have stayed with you! I should have gone back to my bed. I should have known I might do such a thing, and to you, the only thing I have in this world. But I didn't mean to! I didn't know! I love you. I love you. You're all I have and I almost..." He cried out again and began sobbing. "And after what you gave me earlier... then you let me sleep beside you, I should have said no, I should have said that one word and you wouldn't have been hurt. My poor Christine."

My child. My skin crawled at the sudden realization that miscarriages could occur from fright. Had it died? Had Erik killed a part of me after all?

"I'll never sleep in your bed again," he told me. "Never."

"I never want to sleep in this bed again, either," I replied. There were two awful memories associated with it now, both of which I had felt like dying.

"I'll buy you a new one, then, and anything else that will make you forget this."

"Please," I whispered.

He left me alone for the remainder of the night. I had expected to feel relieved after it was over, like I had been brave in some way, but all I had felt was foolish and used. At least my child might have been protected by it. I had almost given my life in the end.

Oddly enough, I pitied Erik. I wasn't upset with him at all. He was right to want to seek out the deepest expression of love with me, and he had, in a sense, let it be my choice. He had been crying at intervals during it—overwhelmed, I assumed—and I had pitied him for not receiving what he should have from someone who actually loved him. I had pitied him enough to let him stay with me afterward.

What if he had killed me? What would he have done? Likely killed himself, I assumed, in a torturous manner. I was glad that I was alive, though. I might despise my circumstances, but I had no desire to die.

Not yet, that is.

...

The next day, Erik avoided me, to the extent of me making my own meals. My nausea wasn't as terrible as it had been- in fact, I hardly noticed it that day. Maybe it came in waves.

He played music for me all day, though he did not glance in my direction. It was like he had chained himself to the piano and the violin, enslaved himself for my sake. He didn't play anything sad or, as he liked, macabre. It was all joyous and beautiful, though I knew he must be feeling neither.

The sun set before I approached him. He had not eaten anything that day, nor moved from the bench. I grazed my hand over his shoulder and he shuddered.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," I whispered. "I didn't know."

He kept his gaze downcast.

"I forgive you," I insisted. "You didn't know, and even if you suspected, why shouldn't you have stayed?"

"I hope that at least something came of it," he replied softly, glancing up at me with an indefinable expression. "That you miscarried."

My heart faltered in my chest.


	17. Chapter 17: Pieces

My vision trembled, and my legs gave out from under me. My head spun with nausea. Erik caught me and brought me over to the sofa, then knelt down beside me. My heart pounded madly in my chest. I hardly knew myself. My breaths were labored and panicked.

"Christine," he said gently, taking hold of one of my hands, "I didn't mean to frighten you. I only meant to comfort you."

I stared at him, my terror dissipating. Comfort me? In what way was that meant to be comforting?

"You poor thing," he whispered, glancing down at my neck.

He removed his hand from mine like I had turned red-hot, and he rose. Then he turned around so I couldn't see his face.

His breaths caught from tears. I found that my heart did not respond to these as quickly as it had before. It took quite some time to feel it throb. Why should I care if the man who had violated me was crying? But I did care, and it bewildered me how much I cared for this man who had done, in others' eyes, unforgivable harm to me.

"Why do you cry?" I asked, to know if the cause was indeed the bruises on my neck, or perhaps his distress at what possibly still grew within me.

His weighted breaths ceased for a moment, replaced with sniffling. Then he replied pitifully, "This isn't what I wanted."

"You have everything you could ever want," I retorted, surprised at my own daring.

"No... no, whatever I wanted before hasn't contented me. Not even having you here has given me any peace... I thought last night would solve it, the one last thing that would content me... but it was a moment. A spark of light in the darkness, quickly extinguished. It was not what I sought so desperately."

"You want my love."

"I just want to _live_ , Christine," he told me, his voice quavering. He remained turned away. "I have lived a life of running. Always searching, always failing, and always being despised once my uses had run dry... I want to live in a house with a wife who will not despise me, but even that I cannot manage! You are carrying another's child, and you were harmed last night from one of my dreams. I will never have you as mine, in the way that I want you to be, when I taught you, with your bright eyes and infinite kindness. Your kindness now has a capacity, and you'll always be frightened beneath whatever smile you wear for my benefit."

"Don't give me anything to fear, then," I offered.

"The phantom is dead. You have nothing to fear save this new knowledge of a child that is not mine. You thought I was going to try to be rid of it, didn't you?"

"I assumed so... and why would you not do that?"

"Your health."

"I should have just confessed-"

"No," he told me firmly. "I would have torn this place apart had you done so."

"What do you mean?"

"I denied it at first. It could have been a coincidence, after all. Even you know there is a likelihood you were wrong all along. Then you offered me your bed, and I knew my suspicions were true. But I didn't care then. I had never been with a woman before, certainly not one I loved, not my wife... and I thought it would be better to do so now than try to convince you later, as you chose on your own this time, and I couldn't fathom causing you distress."

"You didn't think that caused me distress? To let you use me?"

"Do not speak about what happened last night ever again," he said sharply. "It does not exist."

"You can't simply make things you don't like nonexistent-"

"Certainly," he replied, with full confidence. "You don't want it to exist either, so," he made a motion with his hands like a magician making something vanish.

"But what are you going to do with me now that you know?"

"Nothing different... though, if you did not miscarry, we will need to take a visit to Paris."

"Why would we do that? Y-you're not going to try to be rid of it, a-are you?"

"No. I wouldn't risk your health. I said that before."

"Then why?"

"There are some things best left unknown until they occur, my angel... But I will ask, do you want this child?"

I started sobbing. "No, n-no, I can't have a child. I-I'm not ready."

"I'm certain you've lost it," he told me, reaching out to comfort me, but quickly pulling away. "And if you did not, then you likely never had one in the first place... But if you are so opposed to having a child, why were you foolish enough to make one?"

"I... I didn't t-try to."

"Didn't you prevent that occurrence?"

"I-I did, but... I-I can't say."

His features darkened. "Let's not discuss this now. You are to pretend nothing has happened since yesterday. Revert to how it was."

"It's not so simple-"

"And there is nothing inside you anymore. Until we have evidence on the contrary- which I will observe, not you- only then will we have another discussion on the matter."

"How can you speak to me like this?" I demanded weakly, sitting up. "You act like I can just make my feelings vanish."

"If you try hard enough."

I stared at him in disbelief, then I tilted my head. "Can you do that, then?"

"I do it quite often," he remarked emotionlessly. "It is far less painful than the alternative."

"I don't think it's good to forget things like that, to bottle up emotions-"

"What else am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "Now pretend it is yesterday."

"Yesterday I was in agony."

"Then the day before that."

"I am miserable here-"

"Because you forbid yourself to be happy!" he cried.

My lower lip quivered. "I feel very sad whenever I talk to you and realize how little you know about happiness."

I rose and started upstairs. He did not pursue me, and in fact, it sounded quite like he was crying again. He did regret his actions, it seemed, but telling me so was impossible for him. He must feel trapped in his own mind, but I hadn't the heart to free him anymore, not after what he had done to me the previous night. I could still feel pity for him, but not act on it.

How could he expect me simply to forget, though? I had bruises on my neck for memory, and the feeling he had left from last night, this disgusting feeling. I quite wanted a bath. Yes, I wanted a bath to relax my muscles and remove the feeling of him from me. I had not dared ask before, but now I could think of nothing else.

I went back down the stairs, running the palm of my hand along the cool railing. Erik was fidgeting with something before the fire and staring deeply into the flames.

"I want a bath," I informed him.

He turned around. Something glinted in his hand, and I realized it was his gold wedding ring.

"A bath..." he repeated. "Certainly. Wait here."

"Thank you," I added belatedly as he left.

He nodded, continuing towards the kitchen. I lied down on the sofa, my head on the side of it. I stared into the flames as Erik had done, perusing their contents, as if they held something for me. There was nothing.

I suddenly realized how exhausted my mind was. The past two days had kept me in a state of terror, having to plan for the worst and fear for it. Now, for the most part, I didn't have to fear. I couldn't bring myself to also hope that I had miscarried, as that meant something had died within me. Rather, I hoped that I had been wrong all along.

I watched Erik prepare my bath. It took some time, but it seemed neither of us noticed. As the water began to rise, he started singing, quietly, but with all the emotion required of an opera piece. It was a duet. I recognized it plainly and realized he must be trying to have me sing with him.

I remained silent when my part came, and he ceased entirely.

"You will not even permit me your voice?" he said.

"I have no desire to sing," I replied.

"Come now. You must be feeling something you can express only through music."

I turned to him. "Do you sometimes feel like you can only express yourself through music?"

He chuckled bitterly, "But no one can hear. Even if they did, music is a language few understand."

"I understand it."

He glanced over at me. "You do. Better than many of the finest composers. You can turn even their worthless noise into music. The only time I find any of them bearable is when they are issuing from your lips."

"Does it ever upset you that you are so above them, that you cannot enjoy them as others do, without tearing them apart?"

"No. I enjoy tearing them apart."

"That is what I feared..." I whispered.

He finished preparing my bath, then left, shutting the doors behind him. I peeled off my dress and hastened to roll down my stockings. As I removed my chemise, I found a few brown spots, but I removed it from my gaze before I could think too deeply on the likely cause.

I slipped into the bath and found it soothed me instantly, wrapping me up in warmth. I let my limbs float along the surface. The soap had the same sweet scent as before, and I rubbed it over every inch of me. The water turned pale from it.

As I lay there, in the water whose warmth was beginning to fade, my hands found my stomach. I pressed my fingertips to it, rubbing the surface.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can only hope I am speaking to no one now, and that you are not there, nor ever were."

I stepped out of the bath and wrung my hair out with a towel. Though I had not thought of it before, I realized that I had to put the same dress on as earlier. I had nothing else to wear, though, save a new chemise.

"Erik?" I called.

There was no reply.

"Erik? Could you get something for me?"

Footsteps approached, followed by a voice. "Is there something you need?"

"A new chemise, a-and stockings, I think."

The footsteps went away. I wrapped myself in a towel and curled up on the sofa, considering if I should shut myself away in my room the rest of the day. I didn't want to speak with Erik anymore.

There came a knock at the door. I went to answer it, holding my towel tightly about myself. I only opened the door enough to permit the transfer of my stockings (striped ones) and chemise before shutting it.

I pulled both on, then slipped back into my dress. Then I glanced over at my old chemise, considering whether I should tell Erik about the dried blood on them. It could mean nothing, but likely not.

I had no desire to tell him. He had no right to know yet, so I took it upstairs to place with the rest of my laundry. Then I shut the door to my room, and decided to remain there for as long as Erik would permit me, if not longer.

Figaro chirped from the corner, and I went to open the door to his cage. He glided down to the floor and waddled over to me. I brushed his breast with my finger to help him onto it. He hopped up and chirped.

"You've been so quiet recently," I told him. "Are you cold up here, perhaps?"

He climbed up my arm to my shoulder, chirping all the while.

"Do you want some more seed?" I asked, dipping my hand into the bag beside his cage.

He ruffled his feathers and ceased chirping. I let him eat out of my hand, finding the action very calming. His tongue seemed to pick up the seed along with his beak, tickling me- not until I laughed, though. I could smile, but not laugh. Not for some time, I feared.

Erik knocked on my door. I ignored him.

"Do you want dinner now?" he asked.

I stroked Figaro.

"Christine?"

"I'm not hungry," I replied.

He opened the door. His features softened around his mask at seeing me with my bird.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, but not well," I replied, keeping my attention on Figaro.

"Are you going to stay up here with only him for company, then?"

"I think that would be good for my health."

"Yes," he replied, his gaze trailing down to my neck. His jaw tightened. "I'll bring you up some soup, then."

"I'm really not hungry-"

"I insist you eat something. I'll bring up a small bowl is all."

I sighed, "All right..."

He turned to leave, but hesitated, glancing back at me.

"Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?" he asked.

"The beach?"

"We'll have to leave early, and it will be too cold to swim, but it might do you some good."

"I might not have the motivation... the day after, though, I think."

"The day after, then..." He glanced at my neck again, unable to avoid his glaring mistake. "Does it hurt?"

"A little, when I turn my head too suddenly or swallow large things... When will it heal?"

"A couple weeks," he said faintly. "I-I'll go make your soup."

I turned my attention back to Figaro, whom I placed atop my head. He clung to my curls. I went to find something else to occupy myself. I wanted to create something, be it poor sketches or a scarf. Too much had been destroyed of late.

I found myself drawn to the mirror of my vanity table. What did Erik see that I had tried to avoid looking at myself all day?

The bruises were about my neck like a necklace, darker in some places and paler in others. They were striking and quite evident. Erik couldn't take me out in public looking like that unless he bought me a dress with a very high neck. Even he ought to know that.

The sight was awful, and I turned away.

...

I couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned, curled up and opened, but to no avail. It was likely because of the bed. Memory turned the mattress to needles, the pillows to rocks. I didn't want to leave my room, though, to sleep on the sofa, because I didn't want to see Erik again until the morning, if then.

As I began to give up on even shutting my eyes, I heard Erik begin a piece, one of his own that he had been struggling with for a time. He repeated a few notes, varied them, then settled for one and moved on to the next. This occurred repetitiously, until at last he started at the beginning and played it through. The emotion of the piece was two at once: joy and sorrow. Each wove through the other, with sorrow becoming the melody and overwhelming joy, until joy did the same. Then they would be two melodies dipping in and out of each other, like a needle and thread, creating an almost haunting sound.

I found myself drawn to my door, and I pressed my ear against it to further experience the music. I shut my eyes, my hand pressed against the cool wood. The vibrations were inside it.

His genius was harrowing sometimes, what he could do to me with it. What I was feeling was purely his doing. I was being pulled in two different directions by his music, sometimes torn in two. At one moment I was distraught, another overwhelmed by happiness.

It ceased with a note. Not a chord, a note, and it brought nothing to completion. Perhaps he intended to continue it, perhaps he wanted an unsettling effect. The latter was certainly plausible with Erik.

I heard the bench scrape against the floor. The sound echoed through the still house. I turned back to my bed, but memory now forbade me to re-enter it.

I curled up on the carpet at the foot of my bed instead. It was cold, but far more bearable.

Then I began to cry. Everything had gone even more horribly wrong than I had expected. I had nothing left of my own like I had tried to keep from him, as I had needed to sacrifice it for my possible child. In the end, it had all been for naught.

Erik's footsteps echoed down the hallway. I tried to cry more quietly so he wouldn't hear, but I also needed to breathe and not drown. He stopped outside my door.

"Christine?" he whispered. "Why aren't you asleep?"

I continued crying weakly, all curled up on the floor.

He pushed open the door and came towards me, gingerly. He then kneeled down beside me.

"You must be so tired," he told me. "Why aren't you in bed?"

I shook my head. "I can't sleep t-there."

He glanced up at it, his face falling further. "I forgot, I promised to get you another... You can sleep in my bed- without me, of course."

"I want to sleep downstairs."

"On the sofa?"

I nodded, spilling a few tears that had gathered in my eyes. He reached out to brush them away, and I shivered.

"I'll bring you blankets, then," he informed me, rising. He went out into the hall.

I gathered myself up as best I could, then went downstairs, my arms wrapped about myself. I curled up on the striped sofa, hugging myself for warmth. The fireplace was glowing with red embers.

Erik's footsteps issued from the stairs. He had a pile of blankets in his arms, and upon entering the room, he proceeded to place them over me with great care. I pitied him now more than ever, though it made no sense even to me.

"Are you warm?" he asked, looking at me.

I nodded. "B-but... a pillow might be nice, I think-"

He turned around to take one from an armchair, then placed it beneath my head. He almost smiled at caring for me. Normally I would give some sort of gentle expression in return, but I found myself incapable.

"Goodnight," he told me.

"Goodnight," I whispered in reply.

I turned over and shut my eyes.

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 **This chapter is rather... uneventful. It's like they're back to square one, though more like -100. Good going, Erik.**

 **I had to get a Captive chapter up, first. I was stuck for a while on it. Please review if you have not! No one is reviewing. If it stinks, PM me so I can change it. It's concerning me how few reviews it is getting.**

 **Also, if I go silent for some time, I am going through a really difficult time at the moment, so it might just be due to that. I hope this will be an outlet, though, to help me de-stress.**


	18. Chapter 18: Rain

**I expected writer's block to come, and it did. But I hope I can update Captive in a Sanctuary by the end of the week, if not sooner. I'm feeling much better now after what happened, too, thank you for your support in the reviews.**

 **I don't know if I'm _completely_ satisfied with this chapter, but maybe that's because it's rather uneventful. **

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Flowers. There were flowers all around me when I woke. They were on the end tables and coffee table, in vases and baskets, some even tied with bows. There were countless varieties. The effect of the perfume and the warmth radiating from the fireplace made me remain there for some time, savoring the peace and quiet.

At least he still loved me. I was quite safe with him due to that, and now I understood exactly how much. He wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't even bear the thought of doing so by accident. My only fear now was that, if I continued to carry Raoul's child, his love for me might dim. Even that, however, I had begun to doubt. Nothing had hurt his love of me so far.

I found my hands clasping over my stomach. It was a strange feeling that something might be there. Then I found myself sickened with the thought that that something had died within me and might now be withering away. Erik might know about the development of babies, as he knew so much, but I doubted his cold logic would ease my pain.

I pushed off the blankets and went over to the windows. It seemed he had pulled open the curtains earlier to let in the light. It was nice to look down out of them and find more buds, more green, all surrounding the house. It gave me hope. There was quite a bit of hope, after all. I wasn't locked up, wasn't being treated like a doll. He wanted a wife. Couldn't I give him that? I only needed to not fight him so much, at least on matters of less importance, and perhaps we both would be happy. It was such a simple solution, but why could I not abide by it? Why was it so difficult for me to be passive?

I unlatched the windowpanes so I could open them. The air swept in- cool, spring air. For a moment, as I shut my eyes, everything was right with the world. There was no worrying about the future, and no awful memories of the past. The world was utterly beautiful.

For a time, I stood there, gazing out onto the quiet street beyond. I suddenly wondered if Erik would let me have any friends, or if he wanted me all to himself. It was likely the latter, but there was no harm in asking... Gently, that is. I always needed to be gentle with him when I could. He was so accustomed to people being violent and cruel that he still expected the same of me, even after three months.

I turned back to the flowers with determination. If I was going to be a wife, then I ought to do what Erik would have fantasized. He had this actually rather nice idea of what home should be like, and I was certain I could give him exactly what he wanted, so long as my will remained intact.

I began spreading the flowers about the house, brightening up each room. I rearranged a few things as well, made little touches that Erik would notice. It was all designed for his eye. I chose colors to match a room's wallpaper, then made sure the vases and baskets were scattered about rather than all clumped together.

As I adjusted a vase of hydrangeas in the drawing room, from outside came the rolling of wheels over cobblestone. I went to the window to find a brougham stopped outside the house, with Erik's silhouette in the window. He stepped out, wearing his skin-like mask. His arms were full of flat white boxes, his face melancholy. He pushed open the fence and started down the stepping stones to the door, which he had difficulty opening, what with all the boxes.

"Good morning," I told him as he entered.

He looked me up and down. "Far better than yesterday's."

He had such a curious way of answering to simple greetings, as if they were to be interpreted directly.

"What are those?" I asked.

He looked down at the boxes, as if he had forgotten. "Your dresses. Is three enough or should I order another?"

"Whatever would make you happy, but three is enough for me."

"They're quite lovely," he offered. "But I assume they'll be much lovelier on you than in boxes. And you can wear your brooch with them, though perhaps it might look a bit odd with one of them. Dragonflies and birds don't mix well... Do you want me to close the doors so you can put one on?"

"Not now, but thank you... If you could put them up in my room, that would be nice.

"Certainly."

He glanced over towards the drawing room. His face fell.

"What happened to the flowers?" he asked.

"I-I thought the place could use some light," I answered hurriedly, suddenly unsure of myself. "They were so beautiful that it seemed such a shame to have them all together. I put one in each room- the important ones, that is."

He brightened considerably at this. "You like them, then?"

"Very much. I left my favorite in here."

He glanced over at it. "Yes, I quite like hydrangeas, too... I'm glad you've started taking pride in the house. I was worried you might still be stubborn about that."

"I'm not exactly a woman who likes keeping a house, but there is something in it that's... soothing, I suppose."

He smiled faintly. "That's good... I'll take these upstairs."

I drifted about the room, waiting for him to return and, surprisingly, wanting him to. I couldn't deny that I was desperately lonely. How strange that I had been with only him for months now, yet I still hadn't grown accustomed to it.

Though it seems impossible, I almost forgot that he knew me the way a man knows a woman. The mere thought of that night turned my skin to ice. He had been so inexperienced, so innocent. It had astonished me. I realized why he had wanted me so badly, though, and it actually had little to do with lust. He simply wanted love. After a lifetime of having nothing, why should he not take the most that he could, and hope it would fill the void within him? Of course, I knew it had not done so. If anything, it had only further hollowed out his soul. He knew it had hurt me deeply by it. I knew he must, even if he tried his best to ignore it.

He returned and asked if I wanted breakfast. I told him I would get an apple is all. I went over to the kitchen, then glanced back at him when I knew he couldn't see me. He had gone over to the vase of particularly magnificent pink, white, and blue hydrangeas. He plucked a single four-point petal and examined it for a moment before squeezing it between two fingers and discarding it upon the carpet.

I grabbed a red apple and returned to the living room. He looked at me with his head tilted in curiosity.

"I thought you preferred them cut up," he observed.

"Only because you prepared them for me beneath the opera house like that."

"You never complained."

"There was no reason to," I replied, taking a bite out of it.

"I wasn't aware that ladies eat apples whole."

"Well, I'm not a lady... Does it bother you?"

He shook his head. "I see no issue with how you eat an apple... Why don't I show you some magic tricks now? To make you laugh?"

"I would quite like to laugh..." I told him sadly, taking another bite of my apple. "But actually, do you know any jokes?"

He faltered. "Jokes?"

"Yes. Do you know any?"

"None that would be..." he searched for the word, " _appropriate_ in your company."

"I just want to laugh is all."

"Well, my humor is not the same as yours, so I doubt I could manage to entertain you with jokes..." His eyes lit. "But magic tricks, those make you laugh more than anything else."

"They do..."

He tilted up my chin with his hand. "But you need to at least try to be happy. I can't help you if you won't let me."

"I _am_ letting you."

He trailed his fingertips along my jaw, but removed his hand hastily. "You are..."

I set the apple aside and held my hands out. "Will you show me a trick now?"

"Certainly," he replied, his eyes clearing.

He took my hands and brushed his over them, but I couldn't tell whether this was simply for his benefit or to aid in the magic.

"Are you reading my palms?" I asked.

He laughed, "No. I don't believe in fortune-telling, or astrology. I was born under a symbol of good fortune, to my mother's dismay..."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Distracting you," he replied, keeping his eyes down. "That's most of what magic is, distraction. You should try harder to see through it."

"I do try... You move so fast is all."

"Like this?"

He brought forth my engagement ring in the palm of his hand. I glanced down at my hand and found I hadn't noticed it missing.

"How did you do that?" I asked. "Why don't I feel it, like with the marble?"

He placed the ring back on my finger lovingly. "Distraction, and practice... But you didn't laugh, let me try some card tricks."

"Erik," I said, placing my hand on his, "before that, I need to ask you a question."

"What sort of question?"

I swallowed. "It's been weighing heavily on my mind."

He nodded for me to continue, attentive but wary.

"W-what happens when a woman..." I faltered out of trepidation, "miscarries?"

His lips tightened, and his hand slammed into the end table. He breathed heavily for a moment. My pulse quickened.

"This is just out of curiosity?" he asked. "Not because you experienced such a thing, as I told you to forget?"

I nodded hastily, "Curiosity, yes."

"Curiosity," he sighed bitterly, placing his hand back in his lap. "I know more about anatomy than the development of babies, but... to put it simply, in an early miscarriage, it really wasn't a child yet. It was merely forming, mostly with the body making preparations, though."

"So nothing... dies?"

"Not in the first few weeks. It wouldn't have a heart yet, or a brain, so it couldn't possibly die. It's like what happens to you every month, when your womb prepares, and then has to start over."

I nodded.

"But it's actually not your womb at that point," he added, "it's called-"

"Erik," I said hastily, my face flushing. "I-I don't really want to know."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not in the slightest about this."

He smirked. "All right, then..."

We were silent for a moment. He picked a speck of dust from his pants, and I watched him. Without warning, leaned my head on his shoulder. His hands floated up from his sides in surprise, and he exhaled shakily.

"Could we have a quiet day?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Everything has been so miserable recently. I can't bear us raising our voices today. I just want peace and quiet."

"Do you want to go outside, perhaps?" he offered.

"It looks like rain," I replied, glancing through the window at the gray clouds.

"We'll come back inside, then, if it does. But you haven't walked through the garden yet, not as I want you to do. It might relax you."

"It might... Let me get dressed first."

"Wear the green one," he offered.

"Do you like that one the best, then?"

"Yes, it's rather whimsical."

"I'll wear it," I told him, heading up to my room.

I found the boxes had been placed on my vanity table. The one containing the green dress had already been opened, and atop it was a pale hat with white flowers on a green sash.

"He does know that I have to put my hair up to wear a hat, doesn't he?" I whispered aloud to myself. "Nor do I have the energy for such a thing..."

I ignored it and instead put on the dress. It was indeed whimsical, but that was a preferred fashion now. There were dragonflies embroidered about it, on the hem and the sleeves. I actually liked it quite a lot, far more than I expected of something he had picked out for me. The color was lovely, too, a nice jade. The fabric, as always, was soft and finely-woven.

I went downstairs to Erik. He was picking over the bookshelf full of music scores and placed one back as he saw me descending. His lips parted at the sight of me. With Raoul, I had blushed and beamed at such a thing, but with Erik, it made me sad.

"You do look lovely in that," he told me. "But did you see the hat I bought to wear with it?"

"Yes, and it's lovely," I replied. "But I don't really want to spend half an hour putting up my hair in ringlets in order to make it look nice. When we go into town, though, certainly."

"Why can't you wear it with your hair like it is?"

"It would look rather... strange. Ridiculous, even. They're meant to sit on top of a pile of pinned-up hair, not wild curls."

"If that's the _fashion_ ," he almost grumbled. "But come, let's go out to the garden before it rains."

He took my dark blue cloak and clasped it about my neck. Then he reached for my hand, and I permitted it. We strolled out onto the grass patched up with white and red clover. There was a birdbath filled with cloudy water near the house, and a marble bench beside it, the base of which was shrouded in creepers. He gestured for me to sit.

"I've always wanted a garden," I told him, gazing about it.

"And now you have one," he said happily.

"Yes, I do..."

"And you can fill it with whatever you want," he added. "I'll have someone come in a month or so to pick all the weeds-"

"I like the weeds."

"Then I won't do that," he said, smiling in amusement at me.

"Could we plant some honeysuckle, though?"

"Of course. What type, so I can go buy it and have it planted?"

"I... I don't know the exact name. The white ones."

He nodded in understanding. "I'm certain that's enough information... I assume this is sentimental?"

"It is..." I folded my hands in my lap. "I-I used to suck the nectar as a girl. They grew everywhere in the summer, but then, that was the only time flowers really grew."

We were silent for a moment. He folded his hands in his lap, mimicking me, and kept glancing at me with his desperate eyes. I kept my gaze upon the garden, then I looked out onto the street. There were children playing- boys, by the sound of it. They seemed to have wooden swords and were pretending to fight. The echo of it reverberated through the neighborhood.

"Did you ever get to play, as a child?" I asked Erik.

He stiffened. "It doesn't matter."

"Do you want to?"

"Do I want to?" he repeated, evidently confused by the question.

"I'll teach you a game to play. I'm offering to."

"I'm not a child."

"People in love play lots of childish games," I explained. "It's not so uncommon... Here, give me your hands."

He remained where he was. "You're making fun of me."

"I would never do that to you," I insisted to him. "Never... I want to have some fun is all, and I want you to, too. I've had too little fun of late."

"Fine," he sighed, making sure I knew of his nonchalance. "For your sake."

He turned towards me.

"Mostly girls play this game," I admitted to him, "but I played it with a boy once, in Sweden... You start with a pat," I patted my lap, "and then you clap, clap with your partner's hand, clap with the other hand, clap twice, then start over. There's a song to go with it, but it's in Swedish, so I'll just sing along with it."

"Then I will gladly make a fool of myself."

"No one is watching but me. You can't make a fool of yourself... Besides, what do you care what people think?"

"I don't. I care what you think, and what people think of you."

I reached out for his hands. "Then are the beautiful dresses and trinkets for their eyes, or mine?"

"They are for your delight, and their envy."

"Don't think about them," I insisted to him, rubbing my thumb in circles over the back of his hand. "I can't bear being envied. I would rather be invisible."

"It's impossible not to envy you, even if you were dressed in rags."

"You think so highly of me..." My mind drifted, and I remembered. "Oh, I've gotten us distracted now. Let's play."

We engaged in this for a time, and I daresay Erik enjoyed himself immensely. I was smiling and singing, so of course he was delighted. It _was_ rather silly, though, I had to admit.

After this had lost its luster, I walked around the garden with him, arm in arm. He was telling me about how inspiring nature is for music, about some piece called the Hebrides, which was about a group of islands. It was composed by a young prodigy like himself.

"It will always anger me that your pieces go unknown," I told him.

"You know them," he replied quietly, "and that is more than enough for me..."

A drop of rain fell onto my cheek, and I stared straight up at the sky, towards the dense clouds.

"We should go inside, my dear," he told me, glancing up and putting out his hand. "It looks like the rain is starting."

"I love rain," I replied. "Let's stay until it pours, then we can go inside."

"I don't want you catching cold, my dear... Come watch it through the window, where it's warm."

"Maybe you're right... Let me feel one more droplet, though."

...

Erik was conflicted. I could see it building behind his eyes. He didn't know whether to regret what he had done to me. It had been his right, after all, and I had given it of my own will, but he knew it had fractured our friendship, what strange friendship we had.

He wanted me to love him. Though he insisted that he only wanted my kindness and companionship, it was evident that he still hoped I might, one day, love him. I wondered now if I could. Perhaps in time, if he remained as kind as he had been that day and the prior. He did love me, more than an obsession now, more than desire. He was distressed by my melancholy state, my glassy eyes and quiet voice. Where was the fire inside me? Why did I not argue with him? Why was I exactly what he had wanted, yet not at all?

I could see all of this in his eyes, but he could put none into words. So I forgave him, in my heart. I forgave him for taking advantage of my fear in order to consummate the marriage. He had been to desperate to refuse, too desperate to think. I also forgave him for the bruises on my neck, though those were an accident. It rested well with me to forgive him, far better than letting the wounds fester. He hadn't meant to wound me. He never did.

The next morning, I put on the same dress as the prior day. I took my time arranging my hair to fit properly beneath the hat. Then, once my reflection satisfied me, and I had fed Figaro, I went downstairs in search of Erik. He was at the piano, as always.

"Erik?" I called, clasping my hands in my lap.

"A moment, a moment," he replied, quite involved in his composing. "Listen to this, my little Christine."

He played a short melody, and that was all. I found it intriguing, but without any foundation, it was difficult to decipher.

"I think it will do well for your piece," he told me, turning around slowly but keeping his eyes in his work. "The one I'm writing for you, that is. It has that feeling to it that I-"

His eyes widened as they came to rest upon mine. His lips parted.

"The hat... does look nice," he informed me, running a hand down his waistcoat.

"I didn't know when we were planning to leave," I said.

He blinked in confusion. "Leave?"

"The beach," I replied, my heart sinking. "You said we would go today if I was ready."

"Oh... Oh, of course, yes, it slipped my mind, What with inspiration and... well, I doubted you would be ready by now."

"I feel quite well."

"That's good to hear, my darling."

He went to retrieve his jacket. I cleared my throat.

"C-could I eat breakfast, though?" I asked.

"Breakfast?" he whispered. "Yes... Yes, you can, go do so."

I turned toward the kitchen, then back to him.

"Are you feeling well?" I asked. "You're forgetting a lot."

"I'm perfectly well. Composing simply takes me away from the world."

"Yes, I forget. That's why you like it so much."

He nodded. "It's like a drug. I even forget myself sometimes... Now go eat breakfast. I'm going to work some more."

His passion for music was a sight to behold. He could spend days in front of an empty paper to fill a single line. His devotion, his genius, it was awe-inspiring, almost magical. What he could pull out of an instrument was breath-taking.

I made myself some baguette with jam- lingonberry jam, no less. He wanted to take such good care of me, but I doubted he would ever understand how a person properly cares for another. His past life had ruined that for him.

I came back into the drawing room when I was finished. He turned back to me, and his face fell.

"You need to cover your neck somehow," he told me.

"With what?"

"A ribbon, perhaps?"

"That might look silly."

"I would rather it look silly than..." His voice caught.

"I know... I know, let me see what I can do."

I started upstairs, then he called, "Perhaps a bit of powder?"

"I don't have powder," I replied, turning to lean over the railing. "Ladies don't wear powder."

"Christine, there must be something," he pleaded.

I went back down the stairs towards him.

"Erik," I said softly, "I don't think anything can cover it up. They're more brown than purple now, at least. No one will be watching us. No one will care."

" _I_ care."

I removed my hat and took off the sash, then tied that about my neck.

"How is that?" I asked. "My hat still has flowers on it, at least.

"Yes..." he said, exhaling with relief. "Yes, that's perfect. It looks fine

I reached out for his arm. "Can we leave now?"

"Put on your cloak first. The sea air might be cool."

I went to retrieve it, then we promptly left.


	19. Chapter 19: Waves

**Either Erik or Christine needs to make a compromise soon. This much tension isn't good for anyone.**

 **I didn't mean for this to be so long, but oh well!**

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The sky was dense with clouds, as it had been yesterday. That should have given the world a melancholy veil, but I found it more peaceful than sad. The sea was subdued, with gentle, rolling waves, as if trying its best not to disturb anyone, just like the sun hardly daring to peek out from behind the clouds. The vastness of the waters beyond made my heart flood with sentiment.

I was barefoot in the sand, letting it glide between my toes. I had thought Erik might think it indecent, in one of his odd ways, but he wore a soft, contented expression, just as I did. This was likely only _because_ I did.

The water was cold once it crept up to me, but quite bearable. I shut my eyes and drank it all in, the salty scent and the hum of the tide.

" _My scarf!"_

 _"I'll get it, mademoiselle!"_

"Christine?"

I opened my eyes. "Sorry, I was thinking."

He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some means of conversation.

"There's sand in my shoes," he said.

I stared at his serious expression for a moment, then burst into laughter. He stared at me in confusion, his forehead taut.

"Was that amusing to you?" he asked. "My misfortune?"

"Oh, no no no, it was- I don't know what! How you said it, I think." My eyes were beginning to water, but I calmed quickly. "I would never laugh at your misfortune... Why don't you take off your shoes with me, though?"

"It's cold."

"Come on, it's not so bad. Take them off with me. The sand feels lovely-"

"I don't like sand," he replied, his jaw tightening.

"Then feel the water."

"I already said, it's cold."

"Please, Erik. I promise it will be relaxing. It doesn't bite."

He sighed. His features were hard, as if he was forcing himself not to acquiesce. Then, in a moment of decision, he slid his shoes and socks off.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"Are you?" I said, smiling faintly.

He was silent for a moment, pensive. He stared out at the waves.

"There is a soothing aspect to it," he told me. "Especially since the sand is cool, not hot."

"I think the sea is better when it's cool like this. I prefer to look and touch the edge rather than delve into it... Come close to the water with me."

He took a step forward, letting the tide reach the tip of his toes. Then he took another step so as to be next to me. The water lapped up to our feet, then withdrew in an endless cycle.

"I love the sea," I sighed. "Especially the cool sea. Not in the summer, but in the spring. I love how the sand creeps between my toes, and how the water washes it away... It's so beautiful, isn't it?"

"I think we'll be coming here quite often, then," he replied, then he glanced around. He often did that, and I suspected he was seeing if any young men were watching me. I kept my eyes forward.

He grabbed my hand. I jerked away instinctively before settling.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "I only want to hold my wife's hand. Is that wrong?"

"No, but your grip is tight."

It loosened the moment I had said this. He stared forward to the horizon. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the sand in its glow and reflecting upon the waves. It hid a mere moment after, as if wary of disturbing our calm quiet.

"I wish we could come here every day," I told him.

"Perhaps not every day," he replied, adjusting his grip on my hand, "but quite often, I agree."

"Thank you."

He smiled faintly.

This morning visit to the sea, followed by lunch at a café, indeed became our habit. He was quick to latch onto anything that brought me happiness without sacrificing any of his own, and this was certainly a perfect means for that. I knew he was also delighted by how I prettied myself up whenever we went out, so he could be seen as an equal by other men. A beautiful wife is a sign of status, after all, in a sense. If not that, it meant many more things, all ones Erik must have been happy to receive for the first time in his life. It meant he was wanted. It meant he was happy and could make another happy as well. The stares were never directed at him, but at me, in my fine clothes and hat, with a parasol on sunny days. I felt like some sort of trinket he carried around. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone but him, and I was dutiful with this, as I didn't want these times snatched away from me. They were far better than being trapped inside a house already filled with awful memories, though I would take that over being beneath the opera house again in a heartbeat.

To my growing dismay, there was a young man who often frequented the beach, just like us. He had sandy hair and blue eyes, and he stood just below Erik's height, with a lean build. The only reason I even knew what he looked like was because Erik eyed him often enough for me to notice. The young man liked to glance at me from time to time, especially when he thought Erik's back was turned, which it never was, not to a man that looked the slightest bit similar to Raoul.

It was beginning to irk me. Erik insisted on me standing close to him, holding his hand, speaking to him, but acted as if I didn't know why he was behaving in such a fashion. He started avoiding that beach, preferring others, but they were rockier and far less pleasant to stand upon. I complained and pestered enough that we returned to the old spot. Alas, there was the young man again. He even waved at me this time, for some odd reason. Perhaps he thought me someone else? Or there was someone behind us whom he knew?

Erik turned us back immediately. My resolve to not be difficult with him had reached a breaking point, and I snapped the moment we had entered the brougham.

"What do you think I'm going to do with that man?" I demanded, my chest hot with indignation. "I'm a married woman! On my husband's arm!"

"I don't want him looking at you," he retorted, "or you at him. Is that an unreasonable request?"

"When you buy me such pretty things to wear and show me off-"

"I do no such thing-"

"Oh yes you do, that's all I am to you when we're out! At home, I'm your wife, but the moment I step foot outside the house with you, I'm nothing more than a shiny bauble on your arm!"

He grabbed my arms and shook me till my eyeballs rattled in my sockets, shouting, "Be quiet!" in a way that I was too afraid to reply to.

I had evidently hit a nerve. He released me and turned away, and I hoped this was because he was ashamed of his outburst. I remained silent for some time, watching him fume at the window. I waited for the fire to dim in his eyes before I touched his shoulder, gingerly.

"What, my dear?" he sighed, his voice low and weary.

"I'm just confused about it all," I replied, keeping my voice soft and reasonable. "If you don't want people to stare at me, then why not keep me plain and have me wear my prettiest things at home?"

He shook his head. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"What you mean."

"To you?"

"No- yes, but no. To _them_."

"That they see you as... normal?"

"No," he said, chuckling at me. "No, they see me as _above_ them. They think highly of me the moment they see you. People are so easily bought."

"So I _am_ just a bauble?"

"Don't you ever say that again," he said dangerously. "Baubles do not sing or keep a bright soul inside them, do they? A man doesn't devote himself to a bauble... And moreover, I don't treat you like that."

"But I feel like that," I told him. Then I added, "In public, that is."

"What you feel is not the truth, though."

"That may be, but... well, can't I speak to someone besides you? A simple 'hello, how are you?' should the opportunity arise?"

"They aren't worth the dirt under your shoes, and they do not deserve to hear your crystal voice."

"And you do?"

"I'm married to you, so I have the right to anything I please."

"Do I not have the right to speak freely, then, if I am worth so much?"

"In my company, certainly... so long as there are certain unmentionables."

"You frustrate me so!" I said in dismay. "You don't listen to a word I say. But I'll stop beating around the bush. Do you or do you not keep me silent because you want to keep me all to yourself, voice and all?"

He stared at me for a moment, and his gaze made me shiver. "Yes," he answered softly. "I want all of you for myself. If I could keep you locked away from the world, I would."

"Why... don't you?" I whispered, unable to comprehend if I was relieved by his awareness, or frightened by it.

"You wouldn't be happy. I've told you before, you're not made to be cooped up. I can still remember how restless you were beneath the opera house, with your leg holding you down like a ball and chain."

"It was misery when I think back on it... It almost feels like a dream, though, like it never happened."

He glanced out the window. "I'm going to tell you now rather than later that we will remain home this week."

I had hardly recovered from my earlier hurt and now he added this.

"But-" I said miserably.

"No. I've spoken to you about your habit of saying 'but-' as if that will change my mind. I make decisions and keep to them."

I shook my head at him. "You contradict yourself far too often. One moment you say you want me to be happy-"

"Would you cease arguing?" he demanded irritably. "I may adore it in small doses, but no more now."

I turned towards my window, shifting as far away from him as possible. After a moment of me trying to keep from crying from being treated and spoken to in such a fashion, Erik reached out for my hand. I pulled it away from his grasp, clutching it to my chest with my other. Did he not realize how upset I was? Why would I ever let him touch me now?

"Christine," he warned.

"I'll scream if you touch me again," I replied, my voice faltering. "I will."

"I can touch you as I please."

"Then I have the right to react as I please."

"You won't scream."

"You never listen to me when I speak, so perhaps I must use a language that you will understand."

He reached out again, daring me to react. I found that I couldn't cry out, though. It was too drastic of a reaction for the circumstance. I simply huddled around myself, keeping my hands against my chest, not even offering him my gaze. Through my arms, I saw his fist clench just before reaching me. It trembled, then relaxed and retreated.

Had I won? I peeked out of my arms, preparing to curl myself up again, but I found him by the window, leaning against it and turned away from me. His breaths caught with tears. I swallowed, hesitant to engage him now, so I waited. I listened to his quiet sobs and watched his back trembling with the weight of them. My anger began to run dry.

"E-Erik?" I whispered, after quite a while of hesitation.

"I only wanted to touch you," he said. "Is that truly so difficult for you to accept?"

"No... no, I'm fine with you touching me. But I was upset, so I didn't want you to, then."

"And now?"

"I'm... better," I told him, though I still couldn't bear the thought of him touching me. It burned my skin to think of.

"Then now, I may, I assume?"

"Erik, I just don't-"

"I asked, didn't I?" he demanded, rounding on me. The crying, vulnerable man vanished. "You accuse me of contradiction, while you promised I could always touch you if I asked."

"But I don't _want_ you to."

"Why not? Give me one good reason why I can't touch you."

"That is my reason!" I exclaimed. "You would make me do things I don't want to do? That make me uncomfortable?"

"Uncomfortable? It's your hand! You're my wife!"

"But Erik, I don't _want_ to!" I pleaded. "Why won't you let me be? If you love me, you wouldn't force me to do things I don't want to do."

"Give me your hand," he commanded, his voice low and cold.

I averted my eyes.

"Christine."

He grabbed my hand and I burst into tears. He retreated immediately, and I could see the regret in his eyes from pushing me so far, the realization that this wasn't right. Through my blurry vision I could see even shame burning within him.

"I..." he faltered. "I understand now. Don't cry, my dear, I won't touch you... When we get home, I want you to rest for a while. I fear you may not be well."

If that was the excuse he needed as an explanation, I accepted it gladly. He didn't speak to me at all as we exited the brougham, and I shuffled upstairs to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I wished it had a lock. Perhaps I could ask him for a simple bolt for it? Just for privacy? He could break that down quite easily if needed, so he might just acquiesce. I needed to be careful with him, though, present the matter gently. Accusing him never got me anywhere.

I sat down on my bed. He had bought a new mattress and bedsheets weeks ago to help me rid myself of that awful night, even though it did not exist now. He couldn't bear to think about it, so _poof!_ there the memory went, and he expected me to behave accordingly. But I would live with the touch of him upon me for the rest of my life, and the lingering terror of what had happened after. I often had nightmares that he was drowning me or pulling a noose right about my neck, though I always woke from them with a start. Oddly enough, he never violated me in dreams. He only tried to kill me.

I removed my shoes, still leaking sand, then my dress and bustle. I sank onto the bed in my chemise. The blankets were warm and soft, and I wanted to be away from Erik for a time, surrounded by darkness or dreams. Figaro chirped at intervals to disturb my slumber, but I didn't mind it. The sound was cheery.

Erik was such a pitiful man, I found myself thinking as my consciousness unraveled. Such a poor, pitiful man, who thinks he must cling to power at the expense of others, and receives joy from their envy. Poor Erik who thinks he has to keep me all to himself because I'm all he has ever had, and doesn't know how to make me love him. Poor Erik, who thinks he must assert his authority over me whenever I offer the slightest threat to it. What never being loved or feeling safe does to a person...

When I woke from my restless nap, the light was fading from my room. The sun dipped behind the houses and trees in the distance.

There was a pounding in my forehead, right along my left eyebrow. I rubbed it desperately as I went to feed Figaro. He cocked his head and chirped excitedly as my hand entered his cage. If only I could be so happy from a handful of seed.

The only reason I went downstairs afterward was to get rid of my headache. I had no desire to see Erik again for the rest of the day. I found myself still fatigued as well, regardless of my nap. Perhaps I was catching a cold.

"Erik?" I called from the staircase.

He emerged from the dining room. "Yes, my dear? How did you sleep?"

"Well. But I have an awful headache for some reason."

He beckoned me to sit down at the table, and said he would prepare me something. I continued kneading my forehead.

He returned rather quickly with a tonic for me in a glass. It had a rosy color to it. I downed it eagerly. There was a sweet taste to it amid the herbal notes.

"Are you hungry for dinner?" he asked.

"I'm not," I replied. "Maybe when my headache goes away..."

"Do you think you're falling ill?"

"Maybe... I'm a bit weak."

"Maybe..." he whispered. "Go get some rest, then. Perhaps it will go away tonight and you'll feel better tomorrow."

I nodded, sitting up from my chair. The room swam in my vision for a moment, but I didn't let him know this. I shuffled back upstairs and shut the door to my bedroom.

"There must be bad days," I reminded myself bitterly, "or else there would be no good ones."

...

Erik kept his word about staying at home. I didn't ask him about it, hoping that perhaps he might make the decision on his own to return, as he would never obey my pestering. There was none of that, however; he had no desire to return to the beach, or anywhere else, for that matter.

I found myself wandering through the garden one morning, as I now frequented it instead of the sandy shore. The flowers had bloomed from the April rain. Honeysuckle had been planted on either side of the marble bench, though they had not budded yet. There was a hint of yellow on the bush, though, a hint.

I glanced at the black iron fence. It was a boundary I had never crossed without Erik at my side, but he had never _explicitly_ told me I could not open the gate and walk out. A nice stroll around the neighborhood would do me good. Besides, the men would all be out working this time of day. There was no possibility of Erik's jealousy... and yet I ought to at least ask him rather than risk my fragile security.

That very moment, the front door opened. Erik wore his white mask, as I hadn't asked him to remove it yet, and he said he preferred it. I couldn't understand that, though. We had spent over a month beneath the opera house without it to separate us, then I had moved him to tears by removing it the first day here, and yet he had gone back to wearing it constantly. I likely would never understand how his mind worked.

He shut the door behind himself and came over to me. I stared forward, pretending to be preoccupied with something in the distance, then a bit of dirt on the hem of my dress. I was wearing the green one that day, the one with dragonflies embroidered on it.

"You remind me of a nymph out here," he told me. "Especially in that dress."

"My wild hair must not help, either," I replied dejectedly. "It wouldn't cooperate one bit... Has your inspiration run dry for the day?"

"For the morning... I think your hair is lovely like that, though."

"You always think I'm lovely."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Not many women can say that of their husbands, who are often out in search of women more pleasing to the eye than the one they possess. If they knew their good fortune, they would treasure their wives for more than their appearance."

"You act like all men are shallow and unfaithful."

"And you presume to know more about men than I, a man?"

"Well, you presume to know more about women than I, a woman," I retorted, and I was glad of the opportunity to finally say it. "And you hardly have an optimistic view of human nature."

"Why should I?" he replied simply.

"Do _I_ give you little hope in human nature?"

"Yes. The fact that you are the only kind person on this earth, in my experience, and even then, you are not a perfect angel... but you're the closest to one I've ever known."

We were silent for a moment, each pretending to stare at a clover bloom just beyond the bench. A bee was frolicking about mine, then it went along to the next.

"Sit down with me, won't you?" I asked, patting the spot beside me. "It's easier to talk that way."

He did so, quite happily, then clasped his hands in his lap. I reached to take one in mine, to his surprise. It was the first contact I had initiated since his outburst in the brougham.

"You say such wonderful things to me," I told him. "Such beautiful, wonderful things. I could write a book with all your fine compliments... but I only wish... I-I only wish you would treat me the same as the words you say."

"I do treat you like that," he replied immediately, as if he hadn't listened to much of what I had said. "Do you see this garden? The dress you're wearing? The house behind us?"

"That's not what I mean," I insisted, squeezing his hand to emphasize my words. "You're exactly right about material possessions. They're marvelous. Beautiful. I doubt anyone in their right mind would look at all of this and have any doubt that you loved me. And you do love me, but... I've said it before, it's not in the way I want."

"I don't want to discuss this again."

"Raoul didn't love me the way I wanted, either."

His eyes filled with fire. I hastened to continue.

"He treated me like a child almost, like I couldn't be trusted with certain things, like I needed constant supervision and protection. He also wanted a vicomtesse, but I was not that. I wanted to be myself with him again. He was the only person I could truly be myself to at first, but three months must change a person... I fear I am more myself to you than I ever was to him."

"Disregarding the fact that you mentioned that boy," he said, his voice as dangerous as his eyes. "Are you saying I am better to you than he was?"

It seemed that he would pounce on me if my reply was not to his liking.

I told him, "No, but you could be."

I braved myself for his response, but he only tilted his head in confusion.

"Could be?" he asked. "If I let you go frolicking about on your own, you mean?"

"That's not what I said-"

"That's what you meant. You won't cease with this 'freedom' idea, will you?"

"Erik, all I'm asking for is respect. Not freedom anymore, just respect. That means you don't clap a hand over my mouth when I threaten to scream, or treat me like a child."

"Then respect _me_ ," he said firmly. "Give me respect, and I will give you yours. I have authority that you refuse to acknowledge."

"I do respect you, but I won't abide you using fear behind your authority."

His fist clenched at his side. "Why do you do this? You're quiet for a few days, all polite and reserved, then you get this spark inside you where you won't be satisfied by anything and you pretend to make conversation when you only want to accuse me of not loving you!"

"You _do_ love me, I know that-"

"But my way of showing it isn't acceptable to you!" he said, rising from the bench to tower over me. "Well, forgive me for not having a father who loved me and the adoration of all Paris! Perhaps I don't know how to love you, certainly not in the way you want, which you have failed to explain coherently, but you do not know the immense pain and joy you give me, and I know it is love of the deepest kind. Whether you like it or not, I do what I do because I love you more than you could ever know!"

He stormed back inside. I was left shaken, and I contemplated his words.

Perhaps I needed to give up. He never listened to me when I spoke about things of importance that he disagreed with. He would never come around on this subject. Why did I bother? Why did I seek out his anger? Besides, this place wasn't so terrible. He wasn't so terrible. I only wanted more than a half-decent life; I wanted an entirely decent life. My hopes had always been high, ever since I was a girl, and I couldn't fathom pulling them down now. One more chink, however, and I feared I might break for good.

As I stood up to continue going about the garden, I found myself lightheaded, and my stomach lurched. For a moment, I stared down at the grass and clover to collect myself. It had been weeks since I had miscarried. I had to have miscarried. My nausea has gone away, after all, and only now had returned. Perhaps I was falling ill again. That explained it.

What of my dresses, though? They had grown tighter about my waist- not unbearable, but tighter, certainly. There also seemed to be a firmness to my stomach and a soreness to my chest. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. I was seeing things, feeling things, that were not there. They couldn't be there.

I missed the surety of the sea.


	20. Chapter 20: Symphony

**Sorry about the wait, but I made it long for you guys! Captive in a Sanctuary should update this week when I get time to polish up the chapter, too.**

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I began to seek out solitude. I did not ask to go places with Erik anymore, as I found it too tedious. There would be a handsome young man around, or he would insist on buying me an expensive something in an attempt to please me. It had begun to do the exact opposite, causing me great distress whenever I looked through my fine dresses and jewelry, considering all the children in Paris who could be fed from the same amount of money, all the clothes and medicine, and even all the sweets I could buy for little ballet girls practicing until their feet bled, things far more important than for me to wear. I had no need of them, nor did I want them. But Erik never listened to me, so there was no use even bringing up the subject. I suffered in silence.

My melancholy had begun to tear at the painted veil he wore over his eyes. He knew I wasn't happy, and would soon realize absolutely that I would not be happy if he did not make adjustments for me, rather than I for him. I only wanted a single agreement on his part for something I wanted, something that mattered. That day would come, though. He would see our marriage for what it was soon enough.

I wandered downstairs one afternoon, but only because I had heard Erik go into his room and shut the door. There was this melody inside me. It had tormented me all morning until its rhythms became my pulse. There was no accompaniment yet, or words, but the only way to add those was to get it out of me in some form. Obviously, this form was the piano.

Though I did not know how to play it, I knew the notes that corresponded with each key, and found the ones I required. All this music had welled up in my soul, and I expelled it now, without Erik breathing down my neck. I was alone with my music. But then I remembered, I was never alone now. I was two people. It frightened me to remember that something grew inside me. Perhaps the baby had even given me this inspiration.

A creak echoed down the stairs. I turned to find Erik halfway down, his lips parted and his head tilted in curiosity.

"Play that again," he requested.

I placed my hands in my lap. "I don't play for you."

"Then play for yourself, and I will listen."

My fingertips hovered over the keys for a moment, faltering. A part of me wanted him to hear, though. I wanted praise. I wanted criticism. There was no soul better fit for that than Erik. So I pressed the keys down, one note at a time, like a child at her first lesson. Erik's steps pursued me, and when I had finished, he was standing beside me, his features glowing around his mask.

"Let me play with you," he said.

"With me?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"You have the melody, I will add to it."

He sat down at my left, then motioned for me to begin. As he had been respectful of me thus far, I did so, careful to maintain the same tempo and rhythms as before. He waited a moment for me to settle in before following with chords, single notes, even pushing in phrasings he wished me to follow. I repeated my part endlessly before moving onward where my mind led. I was curious if Erik would pursue me there, too. Without hesitation, and without changing the effortless nature of his part, he did.

The music was exquisite. At first, I couldn't describe it. I simply felt. All sorts of emotions can be described in music, but in the best pieces, there are so many overlapping, like a real human heart, that there is no description to be had. It was a feeling. I could express myself more with this than with my own voice.

I ceased. My improvisation had reached its end. Erik turned to me, one of his hands still trembling on a chord.

"You know how to write music?" he asked, grabbing an empty score and a pen.

"I can't remember all we played, though," I replied.

"That is the curse of it."

He began to scratch out notes at a feverish pace, as if he was racing his memory of my piece. I observed silently, deciding to fiddle with my ring in the spare time. I had never asked him the story behind it, as I knew there must be some importance to the black jewel. We were not on good enough terms for that, however. Not anymore.

He set down the pen and presented the music to me, the fresh ink glossy in the light.

"There you are," he informed me, the corners of his lips upturned.

"Thank you..." I replied. "I'll need to write words now."

"That you will, and a fitting ending."

"Yes..." I sought out his gaze. "You liked it, then?"

"I wouldn't have encouraged you had I not," he replied simply. "I hope you will write more."

"You wrote it down, and provided most of the substance. I only had the melody."

"A melody is the most difficult thing to compose."

"Is that your opinion only?"

"Oh no. Most, I should think... perhaps not Mozart, but others."

"You told me. He wrote down the page, melody, chords, everything, all at once, right?"

"Exactly. But every other composer would say the melody is the most difficult, as it is the start of any piece. All the rest provides the underlying colors, as a melody on its own is rather muted..."

He noticed me spinning my wedding ring, as he glanced down at his, watching it glint in the sunlight.

"Have you ever been to a symphony?" he asked.

"I have not," I replied, glancing up towards my bedroom, as I knew our nice conversations were always short-lived.

"There is a famous one in Bordeaux, if you ever wanted to go."

I folded my hands in my lap. "I would like that very much."

He brightened behind his mask. "When?"

"I... I-I don't know. Do they have a schedule of what they're playing?"

"Yes, let me find it. I found a pamphlet the other day."

He rummaged around in his pile of music that occupied the armchair neither of us ever used. Upon finding what he sought, he handed it to me.

"There," he said, pointing to the dates. "We can attend this one- Beethoven's Ninth- if you are so inclined. Have you ever heard it?"

I stared at the sketches of instruments on the page. "No."

"Then that one it is."

"What's the other, though?"

"You want to see two?"

"If that's all right."

"Of course it is."

I glanced down at the list of pieces, then pointed to one a few weeks from now. "Saint-Saëns... He wrote Samson and Delilah, didn't he?"

"Yes. _Danse Macabre,_ I assume?"

"Yes, and a cello concerto. I would quite like to see that."

"Then that, too. We can see one every month, if you so desire."

"That would be wonderful."

"But you will need a new dress for it."

I looked up from the pamphlet in confusion. "A new dress? What's wrong with the ones I have?"

"The only reason most women attend operas and symphonies are to show off their gowns and jewels," he said, surprised at my perceived ignorance. "You will be one of the very few there for the music itself, but I won't have you appearing in any less than they do. I'll find you something to match your necklace."

"Erik..." I bit my lip. "That's kind of you, but... well... I-I don't need another dress. I don't want another dress. I have too much as it is... I've been meaning to tell you, for some time, that it... well, it upsets me, all this luxury, when others have so little. They're all so lovely, though, and I appreciate them very much, I only... can't enjoy knowing the cost of them."

He was silent, pensive. I feared I might have upset him. He tapped his finger on the piano for a moment, then asked, "Does it make you feel guilt?"

"I... suppose so, yes, that the money is not going to more important things."

His expression softened. "Then I'll give the same amount of money I spend on your dress to a charity, if it will make you enjoy your dresses and jewels."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Thank you," I told him. "Yes, that would help me feel better about it... Will you promise, though?"

"You don't trust me?"

"That's not what I said," I added hastily. "I would like a promise is all."

"Promise me that you won't ask any more favors concerning this, then."

"I promise."

"Then I do, too."

I glanced back at the pamphlet, then smiled to myself at the prospect of spending a day in such a wonderful place, perhaps once a month if it went well. Even if Erik critiqued every single note, it would be easy to drown him out with all that music. There was something special about the music we created together, but I liked hearing other music as well, other interpretations. And there was a glorious thing about all those instruments playing at once, creating one beautiful piece.

"You're so beautiful when your mind is filled with music," he said. "Your eyes light up."

"Like stars?" I offered, concealing my mockery.

"Just like stars..."

I stood up to put the pamphlet back. His footsteps pursued. Whenever he began to talk to me like that, about my beauty, and my voice, anything about me, where his tone grew dulcet, I knew he wanted to kiss me. I had only begrudgingly permitted ones on my forehead recently, to appease him, but he kept trying for more. He evidently thought I was in a good enough mood now for him to take a few affections.

"If I kiss you, will you leave me alone for a time?" I asked, trying desperately to keep my voice gentle.

He blinked in surprise that I had offered that, and he replied, "I leave you alone most of the day now... and so I will continue doing so."

I nodded, considering what exactly to give him. I preferred kissing him myself, as I never knew if he might try for my lips rather than my forehead, as our unspoken rule permitted. But now... oh, what was the harm in it? A quick one would appease him, and he had been so kind to me about the symphony.

He bent down to where I could reach his forehead. I placed a hand on the unmasked side of his face, and he shuddered in surprise. Then, before I could think too hard, I planted a swift kiss on his lips. He stood still as a statue, the whites of his eyes turning to marble.

"I'm going to go read now," I told him, heading upstairs before he could come back to himself.

I glanced back and he was running his hand over his lips, then he began to remove his mask. I hid at the top of the stairs, where he couldn't see me, observing quietly. His fingertips turned to claws on the white surface, and he glanced at the fireplace, which was empty, but his eyes reflected phantom flames.

"Erik?" I called.

He replaced the mask over his hard features. "What, my dear?" he said, unable to contain his excitement at being addressed by me.

"I don't like that mask either, you know."

He was silent for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I would prefer you not to wear it."

He stared again into the empty fireplace, tapping the side of his leg restlessly. Then, in a moment of decision, he removed his mask and turned to me.

"Are you content?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, delighted by his agreeable mood. "Could you do something for me?"

"What?" He ran a hand over his deformity, his eyes clouded.

"Could you draw me a picture?"

His gaze cleared. "A picture? What of?"

"Anything. I have nothing on my walls, and I like your sketches, so I thought I could put one up, if you want."

"Do you mind if it's a picture of you?"

"With my bird, perhaps?"

"If he can stay still for a moment."

"He's quite content to sit on my shoulder."

"Then I will draw that."

He followed me upstairs, disappearing for a moment to retrieve a piece of paper and his pencils. I took Figaro out of his cage and set him upon my shoulder, where he sat contentedly for a second or two before going over to the other side of me.

"I don't need to see him yet," Erik told me. "I'll tell you when I do"

"What about me?"

"I can draw you from memory. I only require the bird for this."

His pencil began to scratch against the paper.

...

The new dress hung outside my closet, a deep blue satin with a neckline that plunged nearly to indecency. My necklace had to be on display, after all. There were black ribbons about the middle and the shoulders, and at the hem, black fabric peeked out from beneath the rich blue, which was lined, in turn, with dark lace. Erik had been beside himself with delight when I wore it for him the previous day. Tonight I would put it on again, and my hair would be high upon my head, curled into ringlets. In my ears and about my neck would be sapphire teardrops.

"Isn't it lovely?" I whispered to my child, running a hand over my abdomen. "I hope there might be some way to give you such lovely things, too, after all you'll have to endure."

Figaro twittered from his cage. I began to dress, and my mind wandered to thoughts of the evening. What if there were young men who stared? What would Erik do then? With hope, everyone else would be just as finely dressed as I, and I would go unnoticed. I only wanted to hear the music, not be fastened to Erik's arm and paraded about. It was difficult to tell what he would do with me at all. He could have another motivation about going to this as well, one I was unaware of.

"Christine?" he called, knocking on my door. "Are you getting dressed?"

"I am," I replied, adjusting the bustle before starting on the buttons.

"I have a gift for you before we leave."

I feigned excitement. "Oh? What sort of gift?"

"You can open it later and see."

"All right... I'll be done in half an hour, I think, but that depends on if my hair cooperates."

"I'll be waiting downstairs for you."

"Mmhm," I replied, smoothing down the fabric of my dress.

I was soon all prepared, and I found myself quite pleased with my appearance in the mirror. More than that, though, the prospect of a night filled with nothing but music was irresistible, even with Erik beside me.

I came downstairs to find him staring down at a pastel-blue box tied with a white ribbon. It was small, just a bit longer than my hand, and half as wide. He looked up at me, and his lips parted.

"You look wonderful," he said. "Even better than when you tried it on yesterday."

"Thank you," I replied, clasping my hands in front of me.

He glanced down at the box as if he had forgotten it was there. Then he extended it out to me. I took it with a smile, and pushed off the ribbon. Upon opening it, I found a thin bracelet studded with tiny diamonds.

"I'm already so covered in jewels, I fear," I told him.

"Nonsense," he replied, placing it on my wrist himself. "You can't have your arms bare, can you?"

"I suppose not... thank you."

He extended his arm for me to take, then we went out to the waiting brougham. The moment we were seated, he began to ramble on about the piece we were going to hear, both praising and criticizing the work. I hardly listened as I stared out the window at the vineyards stretching to the horizon.

"It'll be a little while more to Bordeaux," I said once he had quieted. "Do you want to play a game with me?"

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "A game?"

"Yes. I say the color of something I see, and you have to guess what it is. It can be inside or out. My father and I made it up to pass the time while we traveled... Do you want to play, or are you too proud?"

"I'll play," he said, glancing out the window absentmindedly.

"Then I see something... blue."

"The sky?"

"Yes, actually."

"Is it supposed to be that easy?"

"It depends on what you decide on. Now tell me."

He glanced at me, then out the window. "Blue."

"My dress?"

"No."

"My necklace?"

"No."

"Um..." I glanced outside. "Oh, the river."

"Yes."

The brougham jolted as we started over a bridge above the wide waters. The sun crept behind the clouds, turning the surface black as ink.

Erik and I continued in our little game, though it was not so amusing, and it made my heart ache. I missed home, all the homes I had had, all the people I had loved... I missed them more than words could express. Perhaps only music could express the weight of it within me.

"Red," Erik said.

"The seats," I replied monotonously.

"You don't seem to be as happy as you were before."

"I got to thinking is all..."

"About what, my love?"

"Too much."

"Be happy, won't you?" he asked, reaching for my hand. I permitted him to hold it. "You've been upset for too long over nothing."

"I suppose it is nothing..." I whispered. "Nothing at all for a woman to want to fulfill her own desires before another's..."

He glanced out the window, having not heard me.

"We're here," he said.

The brougham stopped moments after he had said this, and it deposited us at a nice little restaurant. We had fondue there, which I was hardly able to stomach, but the bread helped. I only dipped the edge in each time.

Once our meal was done, we went to the Grand Theatre, as it was called. It had less character than the Paris Opera, of course, but was lovely in its own respect. Erik murmured a few things about poor architecture, but was mostly silent as we went to our seats. We were at the edge of the center row. The stage was empty before us, though a few violins trickled in, then a bass, pursued by an oboe and a flute. They prepared their instruments in near-silence, and the dull hum of voices in the audience overpowered them.

"I'm excited for this," I told him.

"I should hope so," he replied, shifting in his seat.

More instruments poured onto the stage, their melodic hum overtaking the conversations in the audience. Then came members of the choir, as the piece required.

"I would have wanted you to sing with this piece," Erik said. "But the opportunity never arose."

"I'll likely be singing it all week, though."

"Yes. It does has a rather unforgettable melody, and a happy one, at that."

I nodded, thinking up another topic as more choir members came onstage.

"Didn't you tell me that Beethoven was deaf when he wrote this?" I said. "Imagine not being able to hear one's own music."

"Music is not hearing," he replied. "It is a feeling in one's soul. He still felt the vibrations of it, deep within himself, so he heard it, in his own right."

"What would you do, if you lost your sense of hearing?"

"Oh, I would kill myself."

He said this with such frankness, such surety, that it quite upset me.

"But you just said," I insisted, "the vibrations-"

"Your voice would be invisible to me. I couldn't live without your voice."

"You would honestly rather die?"

"I would. Perhaps that means I am not as strong as Beethoven, or perhaps not as weak as to cling to this world."

I stared down at my lap, into the layered deep-blues of my dress. He watched the stage, oblivious to my conflict. Was it ever better to die than live? Perhaps he was being dramatic, though, thinking it was romantic to say such things. I found it anything but.

The audience erupted in applause, and I followed, raising my head to see the conductor walking across the stage. I glanced at Erik to find him sitting with his hands still in his lap.

"Why don't you applaud?" I whispered.

"I will see if he is a decent conductor before praising him," he replied.

"But you could show some respect," I murmured, but he didn't hear it over the crowd.

The conductor's white baton rose, and with its fall, the piece began. Words could not express the wonder of hearing such a masterpiece performed before my eyes and ears. The music brought me through a thousand emotions, pulling at my heart. I could feel it aching in my chest. There were many times when a cold chill ran down my spine, especially at the introduction of a new melody. I longed for these instances. I longed for all of it, from the cries of the violin to the pounding timpani, and everything in between. How wonderful it was to see it all brought together in such perfect balance! How could Erik see any fault in this?

When it was over, I had to catch my breath. I beamed over at Erik, delighted by the whole of it, and found his lopsided lips in a firm line, obviously unimpressed.

"That was so beautiful," I whispered in awe.

He turned to me, and his mouth softened. "Good."

The return home was quiet. My eyelids grew heavier by the minute, until I found my head on Erik's knee and my body curled up beneath his cloak. His hand wove through my hair, but I was too tired to notice. My head was still buzzing with all the music that had filled it. I hoped the sound would never fade.

"Could you take the pins out of my hair?" I whispered. "They're trying to pierce my skull."

"Of course," he replied. "I thought you were asleep."

I mumbled something in reply, shutting my eyes as I wrapped his cloak tighter about myself. The necklace was quite uncomfortable as well, but that was too valuable to remove. My thoughts drifted away as I sank back into the place between consciousness.

"We're home," Erik whispered to me.

I sat up. He helped me out of the brougham, as I was still bleary-eyed. He brought me into the drawing room before going to hang up his cloak. I sat down on the sofa and rested my head on the side of it, my body leaden with fatigue.

"Who knew listening to music could exhaust you so," he said, taking advantage of it to run his hand through my curls again.

"I never stay up this late... a-anymore," I yawned. "You make me go to bed so early."

"I don't _make_ you."

"You suggest it, though..." I willed myself to stand. "Goodnight, Erik... thank you for taking me to see the symphony. It was wonderful."

He caught and kissed my hand. I smiled nervously, too tired to be upset by his affections, then I headed up to my room. Figaro was asleep on his swing, but gave a start as I entered. I unclasped my necklace, then my earrings, before realizing my bracelet was missing. It didn't concern me so much, but Erik might be upset.

Oh, I was too tired to worry about such things. I could find a way to explain it tomorrow. There was only enough energy within me to undress down to my chemise, and once I slipped into bed, I was asleep.

...

I woke to Figaro singing at the sunrise, and I sat up in bed, berating him. Perhaps, though, Erik was still asleep, and I could have part of the morning to myself, thanks to that little bird.

After dressing, I went downstairs to make breakfast. My stomach was feeling well enough for it, though the idea of milk still sent it reeling. I made an egg and had it with a slice of baguette with jam. The silence in the house was quite welcome, as was the quiet rain outside.

I was feeling so bright and lively that morning that I wandered out into the garden with an umbrella. The ground was covered in dew and puddles. There were still sparse raindrops falling from the sky, but now the sun had begun to peek through the clouds, reflecting on the wet grass and clover.

I had a sudden image of a child, a little boy, with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, splashing into the puddles. For the first time since I had realized my state, I smiled at it. But what about a girl? Oh, I put that into my mind as well, a girl with eyes as equally blue but with curly brown hair like mine, all wild atop her round head. What fun a child would be! To dress her, feed her, play with her. Perhaps I could love her enough that whatever Erik did wouldn't matter. I would love her more than anything, because she was mine, and in a sense, my choice. My actions had led to her creation, after all. She was formed out of freedom and choice.

She or he, I reminded myself, smiling down at where the child grew. I ran my hands over the spot, which had become firm. My waistline had not yet grown, however, which was what I dreaded, as Erik would notice then. Perhaps he knew now? He acted like he always knew things, but I doubted that. No one could know everything.

It was then that I turned back towards the house, still smiling faintly, my hands clasped over my unborn child.

And there was Erik on the front step.

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 **Gotta love cliffhangers. It's becoming a theme for this fic.**


	21. Chapter 21: Snow

**Erik, Erik, Erik... Let me know what you think of what he does this chapter.**

 **Also, I am desperately trying to get a Captive in a Sanctuary chapter up. Maybe next week?**

 **Also also, this marks one year of me being on this site! Yay! I've written a bit too much in that time, I think... Anyway, enjoy!**

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"Why the hell are you out in the rain?" he demanded, going to grab my hand. "If you're going to have a baby, you should care about your health!"

I stared at him with my mouth wide open, speechless as he pulled me inside the house. He was muttering curses under his breath. As he started pulling off my damp shoes, he berated me, that I could have caught cold, that I had not asked to go out. His manner, however, was the opposite of harsh. He was fussing over me was all, and evidently upset at the realization that I had not lost the baby.

"You must drink a cup of tea everyday," he insisted, guiding me over to the chaise longue in the living room. "And no exertion, mental or physical."

"What about books?"

"As long as you don't become interested in scientific journals, you are fine in that respect. But I want you off your feet most of the day, unless you're out getting fresh air- which you will _not_ do when it is raining!"

"Erik?" I asked as his lips pulled taut together. His breathing was rapid. "Are you quite all right? It was hardly drizzling outside-"

"I expect you to take care of yourself," he retorted. "And I expect you to realize that I know what's best for your child better than you do, what's best for your b—rd child-"

"Erik!" I cried, hurt.

To my surprise, he ceased, still breathing heavily. His eyes softened in apology.

"You are young," he said in resignation. "You don't consider such risks... And with a passionate spirit such as yours... I do not blame you for the child. I have said that before. And so I will give what any child of yours deserves, out of wedlock or not." He brushed a hand over his forehead. "The room beside yours will be made into a nursery. I need to have the wallpaper put up first, then the furnishings. What type of wood do you prefer? Oak?"

"I-I don't know. My head is spinning."

"Then I will decide... Now sit here, I'll make you some tea." Then he muttered under his breath, "wandering outside in the rain..."

I stared up at the ceiling, quite perplexed at this turn of events. He was letting me keep my child, and moreover, going to provide for it. I had no doubt I would be the sole caregiver and receive no help from him, but still, it was more than I could have dared to hope for. My soul was so deeply moved that I began to cry weakly into myself. When Erik appeared with my tea, he found me like that, sobbing into my arms.

"My dear?" he asked. "What's wrong now? I've given you everything you want, and you refuse to be satisfied-"

"Oh, Erik, I am relieved beyond measure," I replied through tears. "I've been so worried, t-that you might have it taken away, o-or something horrible, and I've thought about how wretched I am to have created this child, and all that has been bottled up for so long now that I can do l-little more than cry."

He sat down beside me. I wrapped my arms about him, so relieved was I, and he jolted upright in shock. He proceeded to pat my head, then my back, until he embraced me as well. I gave him such confidence as I began to settle that he began kissing me. Nothing could upset me then, though, so I let him. He started atop my head, peppering my curls with affection, until he dared meet my forehead, then he cupped my face in his hands. He seemed to want nothing more from me, as he then placed my hands around the cup of tea he had brought.

"You must let me care for you now," he said. "That is all I require."

I nodded, blowing on my tea.

Thus began his care of me. As summer began, and the air grew hot and stagnant, he insisted upon me staying outside most of the day, lounging in the shade with a paper fan. He bought me a new novel every week to occupy myself with, as the books he had bought about the care of an expectant wife were particular about what she should and should not do. They- the physicians, psychologists, that is- thought that calm pursuits, such as arts or reading, would keep the child within me calm as well. They stressed that a mother's emotional state would easily affect the child, and that she should keep herself away from excitement. This meant that, as I entered the fourth month, I was not supposed to leave the house or do anything "exciting."

"But Erik," I insisted, "what about the symphonies?"

"We can attend them again once the child is born," he replied. "You cannot deny that it arouses passions in you, music such as that. I won't have it affecting your wellbeing, my dear."

"I don't like these things you're reading," I told him, conscious of my whining tone. "It's like I have to be sheltered from everything, even the joys in life."

"Of course not. And I will take you anywhere you like afterwards. I simply cannot risk anything concerning your health, and though I doubt the credibility of most men, these all say the same, and so, for your sake, I must follow it... But you have plenty to do here. You sleep most of the time, anyway."

"I only take naps once a day."

"Still... but if you need a new pastime, perhaps you should try to train your bird. He can do more than climb up your hand, you know."

"Erik, I want to have another month of going outside the house," I pleaded. "At least one more visit to the symphony?"

He turned to me, then sighed, " _One_... But you aren't trapped within these walls, my love. You wander around the garden all the time making daisy chains."

"I have little else to do. You refuse to play most of our music together, save the most boring pieces you can find."

"Why must you complain so much?" he demanded tiredly. "You don't seem to understand that I am trying to care for you and keep you and the baby healthy. I don't have the option to care about your annoyance at this. You are all I have in this world, and I refuse to lose you. You do know that, if your child is threatened, you are, too. Miscarriages can be dangerous things."

"I won't miscarry listening to music," I scoffed.

"Would you cease arguing? I doubt so, too, but I am taking no*** risks."

I crossed my arms half-heartedly, my heart sinking. My body had already become a cage, and yet I had hardly developed a visible bump yet!

"Would you like some of your chocolates from yesterday?" he offered.

"I want pickled herring," I replied.

"Pickled herring? I suppose I can go into town and search for some. Is it so pressing?"

"I thought you were taking no risks regarding my wellbeing?"

He chuckled, "Yes, I suppose so... I just prefer to go while you are taking a nap, but I will certainly leave now."

He did not return with it, though, nor the next day, nor the day after that. It took him four days to locate jars of pickled herring, which he bought ten of. I was so overjoyed that I almost imagined my child leaping inside me. As often happened now whenever I felt such happiness, I began to weep as I ate my treasure. Erik had made himself numb to this form of tears, as he now realized I could be both happy and sad all at once. He kissed the top of my head and milked my praise of him to the last drop.

Even with this, though, and the visit to the symphony, I was miserable. His concerns were legitimate, of course, but the fact that I wasn't even let outside the garden now made me indignant. I often shut myself up in my room with the window thrown open. He had had a door installed between my room and the nursery, and the wallpaper had been put up. It was a pale sunshine-yellow with vertical white lines. I had made requests to him about the furnishings, especially that I wanted a bright carpet in the middle for my child to play on. He agreed to every single one of my requests. He agreed to almost everything I said now, as long as I did not mention going outside the garden. Even then, he didn't react in anger. It was often only a sigh of discontent that he emitted.

It was all weighing heavily on him. That much I knew. He had grown tired of telling me "no," of my unhappiness. After all, he did love me. In the only way he knew how, he loved me. A man who loves a woman is in agony at denying her anything.

One cool night in September, as I tossed and turned in bed, I heard the tinkling of glass downstairs, as if someone were removing something from a cabinet. My heart leapt into my throat. Had someone had broken in? I rushed over to Erik's bedroom to find it empty. The sheets of the bed had not even been pulled back.

I went downstairs, perplexed by why he would be awake if he wasn't composing. Light issued from the dining room. I found him at the table, his mask beside him, and his head in his hands. There was a glass of wine before him, and a bottle to the side.

I feared he might be drunk, so I turned to go back upstairs. The moment my foot had touched the step, he called for me. I stayed put. Perhaps he would think his senses had betrayed him. I wasn't capable of dealing with an intoxicated Erik, and already my knees knocked together.

"Christine, come here," he said again.

He didn't sound drunk. I went into the dining room, and he looked up at me, his eyes watery from lack of sleep. He gestured across the table for me to sit. This was done with caution.

"Have you ever read Poe?," he asked me, in a gentle tone.

I shook my head.

"I expected so..." he replied with a sigh, "it wouldn't be right for you to have read such dark things..." He glanced at his glass, as if to take a sip, but bowed his head again. "He writes stories about guilt, typically from murder... I never understood it, but I enjoyed it, of course, as one is ought to do with the incomprehensible..."

I was rapt with attention, but this could go either way, that I knew. He could confess an important something or instate a new rule to further keep me here.

"I feel guilt," he said. "I've never felt it as keenly as this... I have not given what I promised to you. I could never have. I know nothing of love. I know nothing of love... I have given you what would please a child, as that was what you were supposed to be, that's what they all said you were, a child... Women had always been described to me as that, vain little things who had to be both adored and chastised... That is not true, at least with you. I knew that when I knew you, but I didn't act on it. I cannot explain why. Perhaps it is what drew me to you... But I ask, is there any chance that you could love me still?"

"I'll love you till the day I die," I replied. "But of romantic love... I don't know."

He nodded tiredly. "Have you ever considered running away from here?"

"N-no... You would find me."

"Do you want to leave here?"

"If I had the choice, I would."

"You hate it here?"

"It could be worse."

"Do you _like_ it here?"

"No. I can't say that I do."

"You are in a constant state of fear?"

I shook my head. "Not anymore, after the baby."

"But you fear I would harm your child when it is born, a child created by you."

He did not ask this. It was stated, firmly and honestly. I gave no reply.

"Tell me why you want to leave," he asked. "In all honesty. Every last reason, tell me."

I hesitated. His fist clenched on the table at this, so I said, "I can't bear being treated like a child, or being kept inside, being forced into things I don't want to do..."

"For example?"

"When... when you manipulated me into consummating the marriage. That is what comes to mind first."

With that, he began to sob into his hands. He must have been drinking too much wine, certainly, to be saying such things as this to me and actually listening to my replies.

"There's nothing else to be done," he all but whimpered. "Nothing... I can't change it, I can't change anything... Why couldn't she have loved me, Christine? Or at least pretended to? Why did she ruin me like this?"

"Erik, are you quite all right?"

He chuckled, "Do I look all right, my dear? My dear... my dear little Christine... mine in every way but one..."

"You're frightening me," I admitted.

"I am gifted at that..."

"Are you drunk?"

He glanced at the bottle of wine, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Then he replied simply, "I was going to be, but I decided not to. The last time I got drunk I... I forget what happened exactly, but it wasn't good, whatever it was... I think I killed a man..."

I hardly flinched at this.

"And besides," he continued, "I would need to drink something stronger than wine for that."

I folded my hands in my lap. "I don't understand what you're trying to say to me, if you are trying to say something."

"It's the most impossible thing to say." He looked into my eyes, pleading with them. "I have said it before, but never like this. This means something... It hurts to even form the words in silence..."

"You're asking my forgiveness...?" He did not reject this claim. "For what, exactly?"

He remained silent, eying his glass of wine.

"Erik, for what?" I pleaded.

"For everything... Don't name them, though, don't..."

"I wouldn't..."

"It's all such a mess, isn't it?" he said, rubbing his forehead. "Everything is always a mess. My life is one after the other. I hardly know what to do with myself... I want, so I take. That is all that can be done for one such as I. But then when I wanted you... I wanted you more than love. I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anything, and so I took you without regard to anything."

I remained silent.

"Do you not understand?" he asked. "I let you go once, and it was one of the best times in all my life, to know you were happy, and would return to me. I had both. And now you are sad, are you not?"

"I am less sad than I was a month or so ago."

"But still?"

I nodded. He stood up, then proceeded to put away the bottle of wine and the glass. This was done with exceptional care, and at no swift pace. He was avoiding me then. He had to say something that he did not want to.

"You may leave when you like," he finally told me, his eyes downcast. "I won't stop you. Our marriage is not under heaven, but merely above hell..."

He went upstairs and shut himself up in his room. I found my head spinning with a thousand different emotions, a thousand fears, a thousand dreams... He would forget this in the morning. That I was certain of.

As I glanced at the front door, I wondered what was best for my child. If Erik did not forget the events of this night, if he let me leave when I chose, then wasn't this the best place for me to have my child? I couldn't go back to Raoul now, nor the opera house. With the freedom to leave when I chose, this prison became a house again, one with doors that would open at my hand.

I went to knock on the door of his bedroom.

"I won't leave until the child is born," I told him.

Silence answered me. I went back to bed.

...

Erik did not emerge from his room the next morning. From his attitude the previous night, I honestly feared he might have killed himself, so I knocked frantically on his door the moment I suspected.

It opened to me. He was unmasked, dressed in only a white shirt and black pants. His features softened.

"Do you need something?" he asked.

"I wanted to be sure you were doing well," I replied. "Last night concerned me."

"I am quite well. You're still here."

"Because of my child, yes," I reminded him, placing a hand over my womb for emphasis.

"How strange that is the reason... Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes. Would you like something?"

"No, no..."

I fidgeted with the skirt of my dress. "I was... also wondering if you would help me with my piece."

He brightened. "You want me to?"

"Who else could?"

"Who else..."

It was all so different that morning. He had always been gentle with me since the baby, but this was different. Something had made him realize he was wrong, to the point of admitting it. Had he read a book, perhaps? Seen something in town? What had set him off?

He had a sadness to his eyes now, seemingly born of our endless arguments, my refusal to be a wife to a man whom I did not see as my husband. I pitied him. He had no idea what to do now to mend his errs. I doubted there was a way for me to remain with him once the child was born, after all he had done.

A desire welled up within me to test his loyalty to his promise. That afternoon, while he was up in his room, I went out to walk around the neighborhood. I didn't want to torment him, so it was brief. Upon returning, I found him sitting in an armchair with his lips pressed hard together. They parted as his eyes met mine.

"You tested me," he said.

"I didn't want to torment you, though," I promised. "I was only curious as to the truth."

"And now you see. But you do understand that you could have left any time, and I would not have been able to keep you."

"How is that?"

"Your pain would have twisted itself into me, until it were mine. I can no longer prevent that from occurring. I would have tried to lock you in your room, but it would not have lasted long before you broke me."

"You speak of all this so calmly, without emotion."

"Hm," he replied strangely.

...

In the first month of winter, I swelled up over what felt like the course of a week. Erik was greatly distressed by it, insisting I kept off my feet, as my ankles began to swell often. He would rub them for me, and the action was one of the most intimate we had in that time. He also finished furnishing the nursery for me, complete with a rocking chair, children's stories, toys, little dresses, and a white cradle.

I knew he was trying to win my affection through this. The odd thing was, he was succeeding. I had grown fond of him again. Not in love, but fond. He took every care with me, gave me everything I asked for, until I found myself enjoying his treatment, enough to let him kiss me often on my head.

What if I stayed after the child was born, and he ceased behaving like this? What if I was trapped? I wondered if I ought to leave now, for the baby's sake, but I had begun to fear the birth, and I knew Erik would be sure it went well. No one else could do that for me. He had even told me about using chloroform during it, though he only trusted himself with the dosage.

"Are you cold?" he asked, as he often did when he replenished the fireplace.

I was curled up under a blanket, a box of chocolates beside me. The baby had a fondness for them in addition to the herring.

"No," I replied. "I'm quite warm."

"Good..."

I took a sip of water. He insisted I always have a cup beside me, though usually it was of tea. The moment I drank, however, I felt a fluttering within me, very strongly. Bewildered, I placed a hand on my stomach, and felt what seemed to be a kick from my unborn child.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," I replied, a smile widening across my face. "I can feel him inside me."

"Oh..."

"D-do you want to-?"

"No... No, I do not..."

The winter wore on. It was a particularly white one already, which reminded me of home. I went outside one day to wander around it, after Erik had decided I was bundled up warmly enough. He followed me outside to be sure I was well.

"Be warned," I told him, "I am excellent at making snowballs."

"That wouldn't a very fair match, though," he said, "seeing as you are with child, so I cannot fight back."

"Then build a snowman with me."

"A what?"

"A snowman," I said brightly. "Like children make."

"Oh... but we don't have carrots."

"We have coal. When I was little, I had to use twigs for the entire face and to decorate the body. We couldn't spare coal or clothing... Would you go get some for me?"

"Coal?"

"Mmhm. And a hat and scarf."

"I will, but be careful out here."

"Of course," I replied. "And I just realized... well, I can't bend over well enough to roll the snow, so you'll have to do it. I'll help decorate, I suppose."

"That is fine with me..."

Our end result was a short man three spheres high with a red scarf around its neck and a top hat on its head. Its eyes were coal, as was its mouth.

"Do you like it?" I asked him.

"I suppose," he replied. "I've not seen many snowmen in my life, though."

I scraped snow off the bench into my mitten and licked it. Erik stared at me in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Eating snow," I replied.

"But why?"

"I just like it. It tastes good... Haven't you eaten snow?"

"When necessary for survival," he replied, now smiling and shaking his head. "But enjoy your snow... It's nice to see you happy."

I let another bit melt on my tongue, then asked, "What day is it?"

"The twenty-ninth... You expect to have the baby next month, don't you?"

"Yes, near Christmas, I should think."

"Christmas..." he said quietly.

"Have you ever had a Christmas before?"

"I have."

"Was it... a good Christmas, I mean?"

"I received no presents, if that is what you are referring to. I wasn't even allowed to put my shoe on the fireplace."

"I won't stand for that," I declared passionately. "We must have a real Christmas, with presents for you and I, and shoes on the fireplace to fill. Could we even have a goose? Oh, that sounds lovely, and a tree near the piano, I think, all covered in those blown-glass ornaments... Only a few, though, it should mostly be tinsel. I have such fond memories of Christmas. My father always gave me a bit of chocolate- Père Noël, I mean. We were always invited to a family's house, to play music, and those were the best Christmas dinners I can remember..."

"You'll have to tell me what to get for it, though. I know nothing of Christmas."

"I will happily tell you. And you could actually get a tree now, if you wanted."

"If you want."

"I do very much... Oh, I'm glad I'm so happy today. It's been so miserable recently. I keep feeling nauseated sometimes, and the baby can never decide what food he wants..."

"What will you name it?"

"Gustav for a boy, Katrina for a girl. The names of my parents."

"Good," he said, almost relieved. "I like those names..."

I took his gloved hand in mine. "Couldn't we go on a walk?"

"Ice," he replied simply. "I wouldn't risk it."

"I suppose so..."

"You must be cold, too. Let's go inside. What would you say to tea and cakes?"

"Actually... to be honest, I would like pickled herring with my tea."

He shook his head. "You've had stranger combinations than that, my dear. Whatever you want."

I kissed his cheek, all rosy from the cold. He froze for a moment in surprise, then we went inside. With my luck, this happiness would not last for much longer, and Erik would revert back to the way he was. But perhaps not. Perhaps not.

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 **So there is the question, why did Christine not leave? It should be confusing, as Christine is rather confused at this point, with Erik behaving how he is. But my most straightforward explanation is that she would be married to Erik still, technically under God and the law, so she would have to raise her child alone, out of wedlock. With Erik as a father figure, her child wouldn't be seen as that. And she cannot go and marry Raoul to spare her child, either, as that would be committing bigamy, another big no-no. Perhaps Erik could divorce her, but he doesn't exactly offer that. Her hands are really tied, and perhaps we might wonder, does Erik know this? But at least he is giving her the illusion of freedom, which is better than nothing, if he is.**


	22. Chapter 22: Preparations

**Help. I just got a tumblr and I am navigating it about as well as a beached whale.**

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I blinked up in the darkness. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. I had spent the past two weeks finishing my piece as Erik's present, as well as a warm scarf for him. It was white, soft wool. I was quite proud of it.

My baby had been restless lately. When he moved, it felt like little wings fluttering inside me. Since the baby was, to Erik and my knowledge, due on Christmas, it made sense that he had become eager to come into the world.

I was not so eager, especially after my false contractions two days ago. Though I wanted the baby here, I didn't want to endure the pain of pushing it out of me. The first contraction I had felt sent me into hysterics. The blood had drained from Erik's face, but he had calmed me, soothed me with logic. As this was my first child, the birth would likely be long and arduous, so he had no need to get someone until we were certain. Should I actually be giving birth, he would get me chloroform before leaving, just a bit to calm me. He already had found a few midwives, all of which he would find when the time came. I would be perfectly safe alone for that time. He told me I would be. His words had calmed me for the time, but more so once I realized my body had deceived me, and I still had a little while before I became a mother.

As I lay in bed, considering all this, I began to cry. My body trembled with fear. I didn't want to give birth. The pain from the false contractions would be nothing compared to what was to come. Erik had gone on and on about how he would give me proper doses of chloroform, but I knew there would still be pain. A lot of pain. And it was all for a baby I had not even wanted. It was good now that I loved it, but I wished... oh, I wished I hadn't spent a single night in Raoul's arms now! Especially since I could have left here, I could have been free, but with the baby... with the baby, I had to stay. If I left, I would have to leave it with someone for most of the day in order to provide for us both. Here, if Erik continued behaving as he was now, I would always be with my child, never having to leave him or her for any reason.

I had considered returning to Raoul after I had given birth, but I couldn't fathom it. He would insist we were married then and there, when I no longer desired a part of his heart or to live the life of a victomtesse. Perhaps I could explain to him, but then he might insist on buying an apartment for me and supporting my child and I. Then I would be indebted to him, though, and if I was to leave here, it was for absolute freedom. No debts, no arrangements, I wanted to make my own decisions. There was no good one for me now, though. It felt like it was either me or the baby.

How wrong it was for me to wish this, but... I wished it had never existed! That only made me cry harder. I loved my baby, I would love him or her, but I wished I could go back and change what I had done. My own act of freedom had chained me down.

Why did it all have to be such a mess? Life was such a miserable mess. Even Christmas would now be full of dread, as what if the baby came when it was due?

"Christine?" Erik called into my room, pushing open the door just wide enough to permit his head. "Are you all right, my love?"

I continued crying weakly into myself, shaking my head in reply.

"What is it?" he asked. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, why do you cry?"

I reached for him for comfort, and he let me entwine myself about his middle. He patted my head.

"Are you afraid of the birth?" he asked. "How soon it is?"

I nodded. "I'm not s-strong enough. I can't do it, I can't-"

"You are more capable than most, I assure you."

"Erik, I tell you, I can't-"

"Christine," he said firmly, grabbing my shoulders, "I don't want to hear any more of this. I will get you a good midwife, and provide chloroform for you when you require it. Most women have to do without the latter, and they have succeeded, so so will you."

"Will the chloroform... really dull the pain?"

"Yes. It is used for surgeries, my dear, and many women use it now while giving birth. I will be sure you get adequate doses."

I sniffled, "W-will the midwives... let you in, though?"

"I told them I had medical expertise, and insisted that I would be there to give you it. But I am not permitted in the room after the birth. They insisted on that, that the mother should be alone with the baby for some time. They even told me I should get someone to care for you while I worked, as you needed to be alone with the baby for as many days as possible, and you would not be able to resume household duties for some time. But, evidently that does not apply to us, and I will be caring for you." A pained expression came over his features, and he ran his thumb along my jaw. "It's not going to be so terrible. I'll be sure it isn't for you... And, even if it is, you'll have a lovely little baby to care for afterwards. That will take away any memory of pain."

I nodded. He dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief as I exhaled shakily.

"We have Christmas to look forward to first," he offered. "I've already ordered a goose for us, and one of those log cakes people have... You can worry about the birth after Christmas. Promise me you will wait."

"I'll try," I replied. "Hopefully it's late, and it won't come till after."

He kissed the top of my head. "Hopefully..."

I continued to cling to him, steadying my breathing.

"Thank you for comforting me," I told him.

"It's my greatest pleasure in life."

"I have no doubt..."

He was silent for a moment, then asked, "Will you leave, after it is born?"

"I don't know..."

"You don't know?" he asked, quite enraptured.

"It will just depend."

"On?"

"The child. I will do what is best for my child."

"I didn't say you could marry the vicomte, though," he insisted, failing to sound gentle. "You will still be my wife under the law. You wouldn't commit bigamy, would you? Nor be divorced."

"Erik," I sighed, "would you cease forcing me into things? Especially ones I don't need to be forced into... I don't love Raoul anymore. I've said this again and again. I don't want to live the life he wanted for me. There's no choice for me save staying with you or going out on my own, likely while staying with the Girys for some time. But this child, in my mind, is neither his nor yours. It is mine alone. If you can take care of me and my child better than I think I can do on my own, then I will stay. But only if that."

"Then you will stay," he told me, brightening. "I have already given you everything you need to care for it. I've never seen such a lovely nursery in all my life. You wouldn't take it away from that, would you?"

"I don't know... please don't ask me again. I will tell you when I make my decision so that you can try and convince me otherwise."

"You will stay," he said firmly. "I know you will choose to. You wouldn't want to raise your child in the city, would you? Or let it to be without its mother for some time during the day-?"

"Erik, please!" I said, tears welling up painfully in my eyes. "I don't want to think about it now. It upsets me."

He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. "Yes, it must... No more about it until after Christmas, then you can decide... Now go to sleep. You need to be well rested."

He turned to leave.

"Wait," I asked. "W-would you lie down with me for a minute or two? So long as you don't accidentally fall asleep?"

He hesitated, staring at the place beside me with hunger in his eyes. Then he shook his head, turning away.

"It wouldn't be wise," he told me.

His eyes had clouded over. He shut the door behind himself as he left.

...

The following morning, I woke up at ten o'clock. Erik was happy that I had slept in, and made me toast with lingonberry jam. It had become my habit to eat three or four slices in the morning, and I never grew tired of them. The baby had interesting tastes and stayed true to them.

"What shall we do?" Erik asked me.

"Well, traditionally we would go to church," I explained, "then have dinner and stay up most the night opening presents and being with those we love, but, as we are not in the same situation, we'll have to change it a little. I assumed we would do that jigsaw puzzle you bought, maybe play some chess, things like that, until tonight, when we would have dinner together before opening gifts, and perhaps singing carols. That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Exactly. Oh, I wish you had experienced a Christmas in your childhood, though," I sighed. "That's why I get so excited today. Even though I was poor most of my life, I remember it all so fond-"

My eyes widened in fright, and my heart plummeted. I stepped back from where I stood to reveal a clear puddle. I stared at it for a moment, stupefied, before the pains started, slowly and steadily, and I clutched my stomach.

"It's real," I whispered, my heart beating wildly. "It's real... Oh, Erik, help me!"

"Upstairs, come with me," he said, as calmly as he could manage. He wrapped an arm about me.

I was already crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"What for? Calm yourself-"

"Oh, it wasn't supposed to be like this!" I moaned in pain as he helped me onto my bed. "A-and on Christmas Eve-"

"How bad are the pains?" he asked.

"Not... h-horrible, but bad."

"Let me get you settled, then I'll leave. There's no hurry with this. It should be some time before the baby comes..." He propped me up on pillows. "Are you comfortable?"

"A-as much as I can be... Oh, Erik, I'm frightened!"

"It's fine, it's fine," he pleaded, patting my head, as if that would help. "But... I'm going to get the midwife now-"

"The chloroform-"

"You should be fine. I'll give it to you when I come back, I promise. I'm concerned that you may be moving along too quickly. Try not to push yet, if your body feels like it. I'll be back quickly."

He rushed out the door. I called after him, but my only reply was the front door shutting. I cried and cried until my eyes ran dry, and then I found myself talking to my child, like a madwoman, in a soft voice between my moans. The pains were getting worse, that much I knew. I whispered prayers as my fists grew tighter into the bedsheets.

The front door opened. I called for Erik with a broken voice, and heard him coming up the stairs. There was only him, though. Why was there only him?

"Two aren't at home," he said, visibly shaken and panicked. His face was white as his mask. "I'll have to go fetch the other... How are your pains?"

"I want the chloroform," I pleaded, moaning again.

He hastened to retrieve it, and when he returned, he tilted my head and placed it over my nose and mouth. I had hardly inhaled the sweet scent once when he withdrew it. The world was splotched with ink. I felt him raising my skirts to look beneath- or perhaps I saw it- and at that point, I did not care.

He said something to me, then ran back out the door. I blinked tiredly as the chloroform wore off, and the contractions increased in both frequency and pain. Erik must have gone to get another midwife.

I heard the front door open again. I called his name, and was greeted with a woman's voice. My body relaxed in relief before tensing as the pains continued.

A woman entered the room, perhaps forty years old, and she was wearing a red dress with fine embroidery on the edges and a brooch set with a white gem on her breast. Who was she, then? Midwives wouldn't wear such things for a birth.

"Hello, I'm here to stay with you until your husband finds a midwife," she said. "I've had five children myself, so don't fret. Is this your first?"

I nodded, moaning with a fresh pain.

"I didn't have the luxury of chloroform, though," she said, and I realized she must be trying to calm me with conversation. "My husband didn't allow it."

"Why not?" I whimpered.

"Thought it might hurt the child. Nonsense, in my opinion, but I had already delivered two without and I didn't see much reason to debate with him. I wouldn't want the children to see us disagreeing, either. They need to know what a good, healthy marriage looks like."

"When will my husband be here?" I asked.

"Won't be another ten minutes, I think... Do you want to hold my hand at all, my dear?"

"I might break it."

She laughed politely, "Yes, I know the feeling... It's very important to stay calm, for the child's sake. It's enough excitement for him already without the mother making a fuss... Do you have a nursery ready? It helped me to see my child's things as I gave birth. I had a cradle at the foot of my bed with two little blue socks in it."

"Through the door," I said. "The... l-left one."

She opened it. "Oh, how convenient is that? Can you see it through the doorway?"

"The wallpaper," I replied, moaning again.

"What lovely wallpaper, too, like sunshine. The baby will love that... It's good you are starting in the morning, as you may be done before it gets dark."

"M-may?" I trembled out.

"It took an entire day for my first... but you already had it spill?"

"Y-yes."

"Then I would expect it to be born this day. Christmas Eve, no less, how wonderful is that? What are you hoping for? Boy or girl?"

"E-either."

"What are the names you have in mind?"

"G-Gustav, and..." I winced, "Katrina."

"Lovely, lovely, rather... northern, yes? Scandinavian, perhaps?"

"I-I am..."

"Oh... now, are you religious?"

"Yes... i-in a way."

"Oh, or, since it is Christmas, let's sing some carols. Those will help calm you."

I nodded, and followed along in between my moans. It had never felt so unnatural to sing in all my life, but it calmed my heart tremendously. She ceased for a time after the third song to listen to me, then exhaled in surprise as we finished.

"You sing better giving birth than I ever have in my life," she said.

"I was... taught."

"By a governess, perhaps?"

"My father. He played... he played... the violin. My husband... plays, too."

"I'll ask him to play for you during the birth, to calm you. Music does wonders in my experience... He seems very flustered by the whole of this, as any father would for the birth of his first child, so I have no doubt he would love to help in any way he can."

I nodded in agreement, tears trickling out from the corners of my eyes.

"Do you need a cup of tea?" she asked.

"Yes, p-please," I replied.

Had Erik just grabbed one of our neighbors to come help me? And what wonderful help she was, but how odd for Erik to rely on a stranger...

"I told my sister she should have stayed with our family," she said as she returned with the cup of tea. "Especially since you were due. But she said there were lots of other midwives, and all first time mothers have late births, in her experience. But, here we are."

"Your sister... i-is the midwife?"

"Yes. An excellent one at that. She delivered two of mine, and I wish she could have done the same for you, but I'm sure your husband will find someone just as suitable. Young as you are, it should be a simple birth."

The front door opened just then. Erik came running up the stairs to my room.

"Do you need more?" he asked, breathing heavily.

I exhaled in relief. "Yes, please."

"Monsieur," my helper said, her eyes wide, "shouldn't you wait downstairs?"

"No," he replied simply, placing the cloth over my mouth. "I know how to give chloroform."

"Oh... oh, yes, then I suppose so..."

The midwife entered then, carrying a black case. She was thin, with big blue eyes taking up most of her face. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a loose knot on the top of her head. My helper left then, wishing my good luck, and I almost called her back, but it was Christmas Eve, after all. She ought to be with her family.

"Let's see how far along you are," the midwife said. Her voice was cold, like a doctor's, and her hands were colder as they brushed against my legs. "Slow progress, it looks like. Monsieur, if you would fetch towels and hot water for your wife?"

He left immediately. I colored with embarrassment as the midwife pulled my skirt up over my knees. I suddenly didn't want Erik in the room, but I wanted chloroform more. What did it matter if he saw, anyway?

She was so quiet. It upset my heart, which raced onwards. Erik returned with hot water and towels, and I felt him trying to keep his gaze directed towards my eyes rather than my tangled skirts.

"Do you need more chloroform?" he asked.

"Not yet," I replied.

"Monsieur," the midwife said, "if you would remain outside until you are required, that would be most helpful to me-"

"Please no," I begged. "I want him here."

Erik turned to me in surprise. The midwife glanced at him.

"I'll call him in when-"

"I want him here!" I cried.

"Now don't excite yourself," she said as Erik came to my side. "I suppose we can make an exception, due to your state, and the chloroform use... But please, monsieur, if you would remain out of the way. Men are nothing but trouble during a birth, even doctors..."

"Talk to me," I asked him, reaching for his hand.

He took it, not flinching at my harsh grip. "What about?"

"A-anything... n-no, no, sing."

"Sing? Of course, yes..." He cleared his throat, then started a French lullaby I had never heard before. I smiled weakly before my features contorted again.

This continued for some time. When his voice wore out, he played the violin, despite the midwife complaining that it was "the devil's music." Oh, why couldn't he have gotten a different midwife? Or couldn't the neighbor lady have stayed?

She looked at me every few minutes, and I looked at Erik each time with eyes wide with shame. He maintained eye contact rather than glance at me. I didn't catch him doing so once over the course of those miserable hours.

"Push," she said, "gently, with quick pants."

I whimpered, but did as she said, crying out with it.

"Pants," she reminded me. "It's coming quickly all of a sudden. Light pushes."

"I'm so tired," I pleaded, but I panted and continued willing myself to push. My body felt as if aflame, and embers burned in the base of my stomach.

Erik gave me another dose of chloroform. Relief washed over me, but I tried to continue pushing, as the midwife ordered. I did everything she said. The violin met my ears again, as Erik must have wanted to calm me further. It was Mozart... gentle Mozart...

"I can see the head," the midwife said. "Big pushes now."

I began to cry in relief as I did so. It was almost here, it was almost over. Oh, my body was aflame and exhausted! I had no doubt I would fall asleep immediately after this was over. I could hardly lift my head up to push.

A wail pierced the air. My body still ached from the earlier pain, but the flames cooled in my stomach.

"There he is," the midwife said, showing her first sign of excitement.

Erik exhaled in relief, leaning against a wall to support himself.

"He," I panted. "He..."

"He's rather early, it seems," she told me as she tied and snipped his cord. "But he should be fine, just little."

"E-early?"

"By a couple weeks, I should think. But he could just be small."

"Is that bad?" I whimpered.

"Oh, no, he should be fine. Had it been a few days earlier, then I might be concerned... But it was good for you, though, it's a nice, easy birth with little babies."

I laughed weakly. If this was an easy birth, what horrors could constitute a difficult one?

She wrapped up the baby in a white blanket and brought him to me. He had brown fuzz on his head, the strands minutely curled, and I thanked God it wasn't blonde. His face was red and wrinkled from crying, but it softened into a darling little pout once he was laid against my breast. I began to tremble with emotion.

"A rather merry Christmas for you," the midwife said.

"Yes," I replied, glowing with joy. "Yes, a merry Christmas."

"Now, the afterbirth should come soon, then I'll give him a bath and be off. If you have any concerns, come let me know... And have you been taught how to feed him?"

"N-not really. I thought he just would know how to."

"If only. You'll have to coax the milk out the first two days, and help him attach. I'll show you after I clean up the afterbirth and give him a bath."

It was much easier to deliver the afterbirth than the baby. When she left to dispose of it, Erik came to my side, staring down at my child.

"He is beautiful enough for you," he told me. "I am glad you won't be distressed now for Christmas."

"I'm so glad," I replied, crying with my happiness. "I've never loved someone so much in all my life..."

He whispered something inaudible, then asked, "Do you want to be alone with it for a week, like the midwife said?"

"I... want to bond with him, yes, but... I-I don't know. I can barely think. I'm starving."

"Why didn't you mention that? What would you like?"

"Something quick... maybe an omelet? Anything sounds good, though."

"I'll be back shortly," he said.

The midwife returned moments after he had left. She had a washbasin in her arms, only half-full, and a towel. I watched her bathe Gustav, but my mind was elsewhere. What had she said about him? Two weeks early? Or had she only said one? Two weeks troubled me. I must have not heard her correctly...

Once she gave him back to me, she instructed me on how to feed him. He was asleep at that point, though, so she told me to fetch her if I couldn't manage it when he woke.

"Be patient, though," she said. "It often takes them a little time to learn... Do you require anything else?"

"I think my husband can tend to me... But I do have a question."

"What is it?"

"How early did you say he was?"

"Between two or three weeks. He could just be small, though, and only a week or so early... Does it matter to you?"

"No, I was only curious... Thank you."

She nodded, smiling gently, then she left. I reverted back to my troubled state of mind, even when Erik returned with my omelet. I ate it too quickly and started hiccuping, which woke Gustav. He didn't cry, though, only stared up at me with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, like the reflection of the night sky on a lake.

"Did you hear the midwife?" I asked Erik.

He was preparing a bath for me, and turned to reply, "About what?"

"The-" but I hesitated. Should I tell him my suspicions?

"The what? Are you concerned about something, my dear?"

"Well, yes, but..." He needed to know. It was wrong of me to withhold this from him. "She said he was a couple weeks early."

"Then I'll be sure you're taking extra care with him."

"Erik, I mean... how could we have been wrong by that much? We knew the actual date-"

"What are you trying to say, Christine?" he asked, continuing to prepare my bath. "Try to speak plainly, though I understand if your mind is less keen than it would normally be, after enduring that. You're such a brave woman, you know. I wish I could've provided a different midwife, but you hardly needed more than me to tell you what to do... But what are you trying to say again?"

"Well, that... I think... I think he might be..."

"Might be what?"

I glanced down at Gustav, then back up at Erik. I hardly knew how I felt then about it, about him. Did he even have a right to know?

"I think he's yours," I managed out.

The room went deathly silent.


	23. Chapter 23: Acceptance

**I have a tumblr now if anyone is interested.** **Please follow me if you are so inclined. I'll post lots about my fics. It is under symphony-in-a**

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"Christine," he sighed, "don't say such things. You're not sensible-"

"But Erik," I pleaded, "honestly-"

"Christine, I _said_ -"

"Two weeks early, that was now long-"

"Enough, Christine!" he cried, making Gustav's eyes open wide. "Have I not shown you I will care for it? What is that nursery beside you, filled with everything from toys to little shoes? Or perhaps you fear I would hurt any child that is not mine, as a man like me is expected to do? Have I given any inclination that I would harm your child or take it away from you? Have I?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Erik, look at him-"

"Look at what?" He waved his hand at me and turned back to the bath. "My dear, you are just confused. You must be exhausted, after enduring that, after all, exhausted... I suggest you quiet yourself until you've had a bath and a good long nap. Then we can have a very late Christmas Eve dinner afterward, won't that be nice?"

I sighed in indignation. "That does sound nice, but would you _please_ listen to me for once? I can explain. I'm perfectly sensible-"

"I will listen after your nap, as I expect you will change your ridiculous idea then... Let me get the bassinet. Do you want him beside you while you bathe?"

I emitted something between a groan and a whimper of defeat. "Oh, not too close, in case the water sloshes over or anything, or the air is too dense."

"Then I will do that," he said, turning to leave.

I groaned again, then asked Gustav, "What if he doesn't believe me later, either?"

He just stared up at me with his eyes full of stars. I decided to feed him then, in the way the midwife had shown me. I felt like I was handling him too roughly, though, as I supported him closer to me. He didn't whine or fuss, but he refused to latch on. It wasn't frustrating, simply interesting for me. What it would feel like once he did? It wouldn't be painful at all, would it?

After deciding he must not be hungry, he found it suddenly, and I felt all this happy emotion bubble up within me. I hardly knew if he was getting any milk, though I could feel it, in a way. It was like something within me was turning inside out. That was the only description I could think of.

I found it was rather uncomfortable at first, but I settled into it. There was much sensitivity there, and I hoped that would go away, as it felt like he was tickling me with sandpaper. I hardly noticed such minute pain now, though, especially because of how tranquil he looked.

I glanced over at the bathtub. It was only half filled, and some water was heating over the fire. Steam permeated the room.

Gustav's mouth was suddenly quite rough against me, as he must not have been receiving milk and grown frustrated. I applied pressure to myself the way the midwife had shown me, and perhaps that gave him a few drops to appease him, because he let go and fell back asleep. If this was all one had to do with a baby- feed it and watch it sleep- then this would not be so difficult after all. There would be diapers, of course, and I ought to give him baths, oh, and dress him in little outfits! It all seemed fairly simple. I wanted such a simple routine.

"Here it is," Erik told me as he came in, then his hands slipped on the bassinet, and he struggled to keep his eyes down as he caught it.

"Does it really matter now?" I asked, not making any move to button up my dress. "You watched me give birth, after all."

"It surprised me is all," he replied, handing me the bassinet. "Put him in."

"Don't drop it now."

"I wouldn't drop a child of yours, even on accident."

I set him inside, taking care to tuck him into the white blankets. Erik placed him at the edge of my bed, facing towards me, so I could see him while I bathed.

"I need to wash your sheets," he told me as he began to pull them off. "Or perhaps throw them away... You'll need a new mattress, too. I had no idea births were so..."

"Messy?"

"Yes. But I also had no idea it would take so long for the baby to, well, come out of you. I thought it took about an hour, maybe less. A few pushes, and there it was."

"Oh, I _wish_... but at least I'll never have to do it again."

"At least..." He glanced at the sheets with distaste. "On second thought, I'll have you sleep in my room. I doubt I'll be able to buy another mattress until after Christmas..."

"Where will you sleep?"

"Downstairs, I suppose... Let me finish your bath before I worry about the sheets, though. You need to rest."

He did so, then promptly left, the soiled sheets in his arms. I sat at the edge of the bed, suddenly concerned that I needed help to walk. My joints felt like lead.

I undressed anyway. I had to peel most of my clothes off, as they were all caked with sweat and dried blood. There must have been nothing appealing about me, so perhaps having Erik help me into the bath would hardly matter. I felt like I was returning from a battle, battered and bruised. I was able to toddle over to the bathtub, though, on my own. The water turned opaque the moment I lowered myself into it, and I couldn't help but sigh. It soothed my aching limbs, enveloping them in warmth. I longed for such a gentle embrace after being beaten from the inside out by my own infant.

For a moment, I stared into the dirty water, at my own pale reflection. To my surprise, nothing about my appearance had changed. I felt no different, either. I had thought motherhood might do something to me, but to my knowledge, it had not.

The soap was resting atop a folded towel Erik had left for me, and I began to run it over my arms until it foamed. Then I rubbed it in, all over, delighting in the feeling of cleanliness again after hours of being glued to my own clothes.

Then Gustav started crying.

"Erik?" I called.

Silence.

"Erik?" I called again, frailly.

No reply.

I would have to get out on my own. After all, I had gotten in, so how hard could it be? I placed my hands on the rim of the tub and pushed myself up by sheer will. My whole body trembled from exertion, my elbows buckled, and I collapsed back into the water, whimpering. Gustav continued wailing. The sound tore at my heart until I began to cry, too.

The door opened. "Christine?" Erik said softly. "Oh, shh, shh, he's fine, let me help you out of there. You splashed water over the whole floor. Why didn't you call for me?"

"I did," I argued through tears, keeping my arms crossed over my chest.

"You're so tired. Let's get to you bed now."

He wrapped a towel about me, affording me as much modesty as possible, and helped me into his room. Then he went to retrieve Gustav. The sheets on his bed were fresh, and he seemed to have perfumed them with lavender. The scent was weighing down my eyelids.

"Here he is," Erik told me as he returned, setting the bassinet down beside me. "Better now?"

I picked Gustav up and placed him against my chest. "Much, thank you... Could you bring in a nightgown for me, though? And a hat for him- the little blue one. I'm afraid he'll get cold."

"Yes, of course. Do you want anything to eat? You devoured that omelet earlier."

"Some crackers. My stomach doesn't feel too well... thank you- oh, and a glass of water, please."

He nodded and left. His attitude towards me gave me confidence, but it also made me wary. Would it change once he knew Gustav was his, if he even accepted it? But why wouldn't he?

Once I had dressed, I found myself too exhausted to eat the crackers Erik had brought me. I put Gustav in his bassinet on the floor and promptly fell asleep.

...

When I woke, the room was dark, but the door was open to let in a bit of flickering light from downstairs. I glanced to the side of my bed for Gustav's bassinet, and found it missing.

Why had Erik taken him? He hadn't lied to me earlier, had he? Oh, what if he had taken him away! Could he have?

I stumbled out of bed in my stockings, hurrying downstairs with two hands clutching the railing for support. How did my legs still ache this terribly? It wasn't like they had done any work. I felt like lead weights were tied to my wrists and ankles.

Upon arriving at the base of the stairs, I found Erik holding Gustav on the sofa in the drawing room. He did not hold him to his chest, rather examined him like a specimen in his hands. The two were illuminated in firelight. The Christmas tree glittered just beyond them, and Erik had already placed all my presents beneath.

"Good morning," he told me, turning so that his mask reflected the glow from the fire. "A very early morning."

"You're holding him," I observed.

"I wanted to see if you were lying to me. I could see nothing to support your claim... or disprove it."

"Then let me explain," I replied, reaching out to take my child back.

Erik handed him to me immediately. He went to sit down across from me in his armchair, hands folded beneath his chin. I tucked Gustav's blankets more tightly about him.

"The midwife said he was two weeks early," I explained. "A couple weeks were her exact words. That is the same amount of time between when... you know, and then when we consummated the marriage."

He nodded slowly. "How do you know the midwife was correct? The baby could have just been small."

"She was certain he was at the very least a week early."

"And as I did not hear this, you could be lying to me."

"Why would I be? You already promised to provide for him."

He rested his head back on his hands, and nodded for me to continue.

I inhaled. "Well, then there's his hair. Mine was blonde when I was born, and darkened over time. My father told me. I was a little cherub, he said, but he did also specifically tell me that my hair had been blonde. Obviously R-... the vicomte had blonde hair as a baby."

"What color was your parents' hair?"

"My mother's was brown. My father's was blonde."

His hands began to tremble, and he dropped them into his lap. "Is there anything else?"

"No... I don't think so."

"You do know that it is impossible for you to have conceived a child during a miscarriage?"

"I don't think I ever miscarried. I don't think I was ever with child then."

"Don't lie to me," he insisted, his knuckles turning white on the sides of his chair. "You went to bed with me. You must have been certain you were with child."

"I only suspected. It hadn't even been three weeks yet, but I had the signs, and I knew you would know if the child was late or early, so I had to act quickly."

"And deceive me."

"For the sake of my innocent child, yes."

"But the nausea?"

"Anxiety. The first day must have been food poisoning, but then it was just anxiety that made my stomach churn."

"Your delayed time of the month, though, explain that."

"It can happen when I'm distressed over something." I rocked Gustav in my arms. "Do... you believe me, then?"

He stared down at the floor, past his folded hands. "You have no reason to lie. You do know that, if he is my son, you are quite obligated to stay with me?"

"I... I know. It wouldn't be right of me to take him away from his father, unless I was concerned for either of our safety, which I am not."

With that, he buried his head in his hands, curling up into himself. A shudder ran up him, and he was racked with sobs. I sat there like a frightened hare, unable to reach out for him or consider what perhaps I should say. I simply watched as he wept.

It took perhaps a half hour before he quieted fully. He had used up four handkerchiefs in that time, and though he tried to hide his tears from me, his eyes were red and watery as he finally looked up.

"Do you want to hold him?" I asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"No..." he said, still sniffling. "No, but... I would quite like to touch him, to be certain he is real."

"Of course. His hair is so soft, just run your finger along his forehead. It's like stroking a bird."

"You would know about that," he laughed wetly.

He came over to my side and reached out a trembling hand to Gustav's curls, which were poking out from a little blue hat. One stroke across his forehead, and Erik was wholly satisfied.

"I have a son," he whispered. " _Your_ son."

I nodded, smiling weakly. "You do... Isn't he the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

"Certainly the second... Oh, do you think he will be bright? Musically, I mean?"

"I expect so."

"Why, he could be a composer! A real one!"

"Erik, you're a real composer-"

"But famous, Christine, my darling Christine, imagine having a famous son! Even more than you were, and all the elites in Paris knew your name!"

"Erik, you're getting too excited, he can be whatever he wants to be, after all-"

"But he can be everything I never could."

I fell silent for a moment at this comment, shifting uneasily where I sat. "I suppose."

"Because he will have a mother who loves him, and a father who will teach him, truly teach him... Oh, I can't believe it, I can't believe it! A son! I have a son!"

"Shh, shh, you'll wake said son if you continue exclaiming your joy."

"But he's mine," he all but whimpered. "I have two now, you and him... I can hardly believe it..."

"Merry Christmas," I told him, smiling.

"Merry Christmas... Oh, speaking of, do you want to open your presents now?"

"Maybe later. I'm still exhausted."

"You slept for a good seven hours and you're still that tired?"

"I pushed this whole baby out of my body, Erik, I have a right to be tired. What time is it, anyway?"

"Around one o'clock."

"I ought to go back to bed, then. I am starving, though."

"I could make our dinner... a very _late_ dinner, of course."

"Oh, a lot of people stay up till sunrise. It's not so bizarre. Are you hungry, though?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure you want to make our whole Christmas dinner alone? We can wait until tomorrow- well, this evening, I mean. I'll probably feel better then."

"If that is what you want to do."

"Yes, I think so. I want to help with it..."

I looked over at him. His gaze had been drawn into the fireplace, and I glanced back down at Gustav.

"Erik, put your arm out like this," I told him, resting one of mine on the side of the sofa.

"Why?"

"So you can hold your son. And then you support his legs with the other."

"Christine, I-"

"For me, please? You already attempted to hold him earlier."

"That wasn't like this."

"I know. I want you to hold him as your son and not an object of curiosity."

He looked from me to Gustav, then back up into my eyes. "If you insist."

He extended his arms in the way I had shown him, and I set Gustav in them. Erik's eyes softened as they came to rest on him.

"He's so small," he whispered.

"So very small," I agreed, smiling.

"And warm..."

I brushed my fingertip over Gustav's forehead, and his lips parted and shut in his sleep.

"Do you want him back?" Erik asked after only a minute of this.

"Only if you're tired of holding him."

"Do you get tired of it?"

"I assume I will, at some point."

"I don't know how anyone could ever..."

He gave him back to me regardless, and we sat in peaceful silence. Then Erik offered to play carols for us on the violin. I accepted eagerly. My voice was a bit strained from earlier still, but I sang a bit with him, until the music was interrupted by a soft cry from Gustav.

"Do you think he's hungry?" I asked.

"I don't believe he should be for the first couple of days," Erik replied, setting down his violin atop the piano. "Perhaps he's uncomfortable?"

"Let me see."

I undid his blankets, and he continued crying faintly. Then I peeked into his diaper.

"Maybe it's a bit wet," I said. "I ought to change it, anything that might help... Could you get me a fresh cloth?"

"Certainly."

He headed upstairs. I undid the safety-pins with care. The diaper was only a bit damp, but he had never worn one before, so perhaps any bit of discomfort would upset him. The poor dear...

"Why are you crying?" I asked, stroking his red forehead. It had wrinkled like a prune. "Is it really the diaper that's got you so upse-Oh! Erik! Help!"

He ran down the stairs and bent over the railing. "What, what?"

"I need towels, and fresh blankets, he just went everywhere! It's all over me, and maybe the sofa too, oh."

"Why did you take his diaper off before I had a new one ready?"

"I didn't know he could do that! And I just got clean," I moaned, reeling from the scent of urine. "Maybe that was why he was crying, oh..."

"I'll get everything, just stay there," he said as he hurried back upstairs.

"I want another bath. I think it got in my hair, even... Oh, you're laughing, aren't you?" I said to Gustav. "You thought that was funny, I can see it in your eyes, you mischievous little boy. You're going to be trouble once you can get places on your own, that I know."

Erik hurried back down and helped me clean him up and replace his blankets. Then he went to make me another bath, this time here in the drawing room. I held my arms aloft in disgust.

"You gave me such a fright, Christine," he told me as he placed Gustav in his bassinet. "Don't scream 'help' unless it's pressing."

"I was surprised is all."

"And tired. That was probably why you thought it a good idea to take a boy's diaper off before you had a clean one in hand."

"But I didn't know he was capable of _that."_

He started laughing, warmly and genuinely. "Just don't do that again."

"I certainly won't. He'll have the quickest diaper changes you've ever seen."

He continued heating the water, chuckling to himself. Then he turned to me.

"Didn't you say you were starving earlier?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I forgot about it, I suppose."

"What would you like? I can make it for you."

"Do we have peas? For pea soup?"

"We do."

"That, then. And some herring with it."

"In it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh, no, no, just with it, on its own. That would be strange, even for me."

"I'll go prepare it. Call me when the water starts to steam so I can add it to your bath."

"Do I get to eat in the bath?" I asked hopefully.

"If you're so inclined, though the pea soup may not be done by then. Do you want a glass of wine or champagne?"

"Champagne seems a bit ceremonious."

"You did give birth to a child. That is quite deserving of champagne."

"You're right... Yes, I want a glass of champagne with my pea soup and herring. How silly that sounds."

"Not silly at all, my dear."

He left then. I called him back in for the water only twice before he had finished my little meal. That is, he hadn't finished the pea soup yet, but he brought out bread with my herring, and a champagne flute filled to the top. I laughed at it, and he smiled at me, then glanced at Gustav in his bassinet.

"Do you mind if I hold him while you bathe?" he asked timidly.

"Not in the slightest. I would prefer it. I don't want him to be set down for too long."

"I agree..." He went to put the last bit of water in my bath. "Also, I insist you wear your nice nightgown after this. It's Christmas, after all, don't put on that old plain one."

"Yes, I'll do that. And tomorrow- well, today- I think I'll wear my blue dress. The less nice one, with the white embroidery, and then my sapphire necklace. That is, if I have the energy. I think I'll go back to bed in an hour or two after I eat something and we open presents. Speaking of which, I still need to get yours."

He dropped the pot of water into the bath, then jumped backwards so he wouldn't get burned.

"Mine?" he whispered, turning to me with wide eyes.

I nodded. "Yours, of course. They're not very nice, because I had to make them myself, but they have a lot of meaning in them, I think... Have you ever received a gift before?"

He shook his head, then turned back to the bath to clean up the mess he had made.

"Well, that's about to change," I told him. "It's only two, because I'm not so creative, and they're not exactly wrapped, because I wanted them to be a surprise, but... I think you'll still like them."

"I would like anything you gave me."

When the bath was ready, Erik took Gustav away and shut the doors. I had thought he would know I was too exhausted to care about that now, as he had already seen me bathing earlier when I fell back into the water. It was very respectful of him, though. For the first time in a long while, I felt entirely comfortable.

I glanced down at myself, at my stomach. Would it... deflate? I felt a bit lighter, but I still had a wide waist. It wasn't like I minded my appearance, just that I hoped it might go back to normal soon. It had to, of course. Mothers didn't walk around with all this empty space for the rest of their lives, did they?

The bath was far too warm to leave for some time, and the fact that I was eating herring and champagne was delighting me far too much. I heard Erik in the kitchen after a while. Evidently he was finishing my pea soup and had left Gustav in his bassinet. That brought me out of the hot water.

After getting dressed, Erik and I talked, passed Gustav back and forth, and it was all quite nice. I felt my eyelids growing heavy again, though, so I told Erik we ought to do presents now so I could go to bed. He went to retrieve mine, and I pulled myself upstairs to get his.

Had these stairs gotten longer? I was panting by the time I had reached the top, and I had to lean against the wall. But I managed to get into my room and retrieve his presents, which I brought down none too gracefully.

"Here," I said through labored breaths.

"You could have asked for help if it exhausted you so," he replied.

"No... I wanted... to."

"You first," he told me, gesturing to the presents lining the coffee table.

"Then yours last?"

"Mine last."

I glanced over at the fireplace, and my lips parted in regret. "Oh, no, we forgot to set our shoes out-"

"Next year. It's not like Père Noël was going to visit us, anyway."

"Shh, not in front of the baby," I teased, pulling a gift into my lap as Erik took him from me.

There were stockings inside, the striped ones I so adored. Then I opened one of diamond earrings, another of pearls, then two boxes of fine shoes, a bottle of expensive lavender perfume, and then the last was a wine-red dress. The fabric felt like... almost like velvet. It had a bow on the bustle and the bodice was decorated with little black flowers amidst the dark fabric.

"It's different from what I normally wear," I said, quite unusually enthralled by it, "but I like it very much. I need more variety in my closet."

"You like everything?"

"Very, very much. And here are yours."

I had hidden them on an end table beside me, and now I gave them to him, trading both for Gustav. He stared down at his lap with his malformed lips parted.

"You wrote this?" he asked softly as he picked up the piece of music. "You finished it?"

"I did. I thought it would make a nice Christmas present for you... And then the scarf, I made that for you because, well, I'm good at making scarves. I thought you would like one."

"I do... very much."

"Oh- oh, and I have one more, I-I forgot."

He looked over at me, blinking slowly. I placed my hand on his cheek- the one not warped and ruined- then I pushed his mask up so I could kiss him. He exhaled in surprise.

"Merry Christmas," I said.

He mouthed something in reply, then asked timidly, "May I, too?"

"Of course."

I shut my eyes. He cupped my face in his hands, his fingertips tracing along my jaw. His lips pressed against my cheek like a whisper, then I felt a wet droplet roll down it. But it was not my tear.

"I never thought I could have a day like this," he said softly, stroking where he had kissed with his thumb.

I rested my hand on his. "I hope it will continue."

"Yes, I hope..." His eyes cleared. "Do you think... you could ever love me now?"

"Love isn't exactly predictable. But I do love you, in a way."

"Do you think it is possible, though, to love me as a husband?"

"It depends on what the future brings, Erik. I can promise nothing."

I only said that because I couldn't bear to tell him "no."


	24. Chapter 24: Aftermath

**This chapter was edited after posting for clarity. Also, the end was changed.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

White sunlight bled through the curtains. I found a figure illuminated there, sitting on a chair with a bundle in his arms. A lullaby met my ears, sung in a whisper.

"Erik?" I said softly.

His back stiffened, and he turned to me with fear etched into every crevice of his features. "I couldn't help it-"

"No, no, I'm not upset, not in the least... Did you think I would be?"

"I feared you might not be yourself yet... I would have asked your permission had you been awake."

"He's your son, too."

"I did not carry and deliver him, my dear. I have no right to him yet."

I sat up in bed, perplexed by his attitude. "Well... you cared for me while I carried him."

He nodded, though he was perturbed still. "How do you feel, my dear?"

"Like I've been hit by a train." I stretched my arms out behind my head and sighed. "I don't think I'll be getting out of bed today at all... Could you fetch me a soft pillow by any chance? A really soft one, for me to sit on? It feels like I'm on a bed of nails."

"Of course, here."

He returned Gustav to me then left to do so. His brown curls were sticking up in odd places, and I stroked his forehead. It felt like down. How warm with life he was! I had created life, out of my own body. It was a marvelous thing.

Should I feed him now? He had not been very hungry yesterday, but perhaps he would be today. I situated myself and tried to make him latch. He refused and began to cry. I didn't know whether this was from me forcing him to suckle or if he was frustrated by hunger. Either way, he could not seem to figure out what he wanted.

Erik entered with my pillow and tried to keep from watching me struggle, but for some reason, I didn't mind him watching me feed Gustav. I didn't mind it at all.

"You look pained, my dear," he said once Gustav had latched on properly.

"It's not exactly comfortable," I replied. "I thought the pain would be done by now, but I'm still sore all over, and this hurts, too."

"Why does it hurt?"

"I don't know. It feels like he's draining me."

"That does not explain why-"

"You think I know why I am in pain when I should not be?" I demanded sharply, beginning to tremble with tears. "D-do you think something's wrong-?"

"Oh, no, no, shh, I can consult someone, of course. Perhaps it takes time for the milk to flow properly is all."

"And my stomach hurts horribly, too. All of me aches... Oh, at least he's done now. The midwife told me to press down to help the milk flow, but I can't _possibly_."

"I will find her tomorrow and ask about it," he said to comfort me. "No one will be available today, but tomorrow I can find someone, don't worry... Don't cry, though- do you want another bath, my darling? To relax you?"

"That would be nice," I said, quite relieved by the thought.

"Then I will go make one up downstairs. Call me if you need anything-"

"I-I am a bit hungry, too."

"I'll bring something up for you once I get the water on the stove."

"Thank you," I told him, reaching to hold his hand. "You've been so considerate through all of this."

I placed my hand on his face so I could kiss him. It was just a brush against his forehead, but he had a dazed look in his eyes afterward when he went downstairs to prepare my bath. I smiled down at Gustav, who had fallen asleep.

Erik brought up my breakfast presently. He had made me crêpes with berries and cream. I found myself suddenly starving at the sight of them.

"He's so beautiful," Erik whispered, looking down at Gustav, whom he was holding so that I could eat.

"Mmhm," I replied through a mouthful of crêpe. I must have looked a mess; my lips were coated in whipped cream.

"I never thought I would have a child... I would never have risked it if I had the chance, either. That he was spared my fate is even more of a miracle... He looks very much like you."

"His eyes remind me of yours, though."

Erik paled. "They do?"

"Mmhm..."

He searched their contents, brightening. "That's... good, yes?"

"Yes. Your eyes are very expressive."

He looked down at Gustav in curiosity, smiling faintly. I stuffed another crêpe in my mouth.

"His life is going to be so wonderful," he said as he brushed his fingertip over Gustav's forehead. "Having you as a mother and all the comforts of life."

"He will be spoiled, that much is certain."

"I want him spoiled," Erik said sadly. "I don't want him to know any form of pain."

"We can't prevent that-"

"But we can try."

"I- yes. We can try..." I glanced toward the window, then inhaled. "You sound very confident in my abilities as a mother."

"And you are not?"

"Not in the least. I hardly know what I'm doing."

"But you read all those books," he insisted.

"Books give knowledge, not experience, and certainly not confidence."

"Do you need a bit of help, then, my dear, for the first month? I can hire a nursemaid."

"To live here?"

"For a month, yes. No longer than that, though. I want you to raise him. I want him to have a proper mother- not a nanny or a nursemaid- but the same woman who bore him. To kiss him, and hold him..."

"Does it matter what I want?" I inquired, becoming anxious from his expectations.

"Of course it does, my dear, more than ever now. What do you want?"

"I didn't mean it like that, exactly, I only meant that I want my wants to be considered as well. In the future... Not over Gustav's, of course, but considered."

"I consider your wants, don't I?" he asked, sounding a little hurt.

"Erik," I fidgeted with the skirt of my nightgown, "do you so easily forget that this marriage is based on nothing I want?"

"You wanted the baby."

"No, Erik, I did not want the baby," I sighed, suddenly flushed with indignation. "How can you say that? I wanted to be home with my friends and my life... I love Gustav and he has made me very happy, but I never wanted a baby. I never wanted to be your wife. Everything will turn out all right for me, that I know, but I ask that you do not forget about how this all started. I wanted no part in any of it."

Erik tapped his thigh nervously, then he asked, "You want to go home?"

"If it were possible."

"I can make anything possible, my dear. I am a magician, after all..." He continued tapping, deep in thought. Then he ceased. "I have everything I have ever wanted, after all, and it is only fair that you have the same. If he will not give you that, then... When you are well enough, we shall go to Paris and you can see everyone you know, everyone. Then will you finally have what you want as well."

"But how could we do that? They all think I've been taken away against my will."

"You will have to lie," he stared simply, "but you already did so well before that you'll have no trouble with it. Tell them... you forgot which train to board, and then lost your memories again. In Bordeaux you met a man who assisted you and you fell in love with. You married him before your memories came back, and they only truly did in your last few months with child. You determined to go and explain your absence once you were well enough after the birth. That story will convince most."

"But the vicomte will never believe it."

"You need only cry and he will believe anything that comes from your lips."

"But how am I supposed to explain having a baby so soon, though? They will know how old he is. I have a reputation."

"You were alone in the world and desperate," he continued, "so you married the first man who was kind to you. They will suspect, of course, that the baby was created outside of marriage, but as you had it within marriage, it is not so unacceptable, especially for a woman such as yourself. Plenty of couples marry simply because the woman is with child. No one will bat an eye."

"And you promise all of this?"

He hesitated a moment, then he glanced at Gustav and his mind was made. "I do. And you can be my wife openly then, not hiding in this place, however lovely it may be."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Why did you never use this plan before? I have been away from home for almost a year now. I have friends there, people I love, and I told you I missed them, I told you, I cried-"

"Do you want the truth?" he asked tiredly.

"What truth? And yes, I do."

"I did not love you then."

I blinked, stupefied. "What do you mean?"

His jaw clenched. "I did not. Love you... It is not something I wish to remember, my dear Christine, but I did not love you as I do now. I couldn't possibly. I have never been loved. That was my folly, that I expected to be capable of it by simply reading books, observing, and feeling deeply what I felt. I loved you then, of course, but it is not what I feel now. Now I would endure anything for your happiness, even if I had to return to being trapped behind a cage and having coins thrown between the bars... And that is not a lie, my dear. Why, if I could go back..."

He glanced to the doorway absentmindedly.

"I ought to go see to your bath, my dear," he said.

The rest of the day passed quietly after that. Perhaps Erik hoped I might forget his words, but they weighed heavily on my mind, though I was too tired to think deeply about them. I slept most of the afternoon, and all Gustav wanted to do was sleep, too, just beside me on the bed. Erik held him when I did not, and when I inquired as to why he was more enthusiastic about it now than last night, he replied that he never wanted Gustav to be set down, not if it could be helped. I agreed to that, though it frightened me a bit. What if he thought I had to be entirely devoted to Gustav and not at all to myself? What if he kept me from ever having time alone, even? The harsh childhood he had known would not be his son's, that he was determined about, but I feared perhaps it would be at the cost of my freedom.

Christmas dinner was wonderful, though, and distracted me from worrying. He was an excellent cook- far better than I. The ravenous hunger from the prior day had not dissipated, and I filled plate after plate, only saving room for a slice of sponge cake after, then another, and one more for good measure.

He played only a single carol on the piano before I fell asleep. He brought me up to bed and set Gustav beside me. I was still so exhausted that even though I woke in the night to Gustav crying, I didn't remember it the next day. Erik had heard him crying and come into the room to be sure I wasn't too tired to be careful with him. I was grateful for that.

...

Two days later, the woman who had comforted me during the birth knocked on our door. She was holding a present done in white paper with a bright red bow on top.

"Good afternoon," Erik told her as I peeked out over the sofa.

"Yes, good afternoon, monsieur. How was your Christmas?"

He gestured to me, and she laughed, "Oh, how silly I am! Yes, it was wonderful, wasn't it? No Christmas will best it, I'm sure." She glanced down at the present as if seeing it for the first time. "I-I brought this to congratulate you and wish you a merry Christmas... Might I come in, monsieur, or is it a bad time?"

He gestured inside. She came over to me excitedly, setting the present down. She acted much younger than she appeared.

"Oh, he is _beautiful_ ," she crooned. "How happy you both must be. They all say boys look like potatoes as babies, but he is such a pretty little thing. Oh, I miss my own babies. Savor this time, my dear, he will be grown before you can blink."

"I know," I told her, smiling. "Thank you for everything you did for me-"

"Oh, you were the easiest new mother I've ever seen. Some faint, you know, or panic until they can hardly breathe, like me my first time, what a mess I was. But no, not you. I only had to talk about nonsense and you kept quite calm... My, how lovely he is, though. Is he keeping you up late yet?"

"I'm too tired to notice. I sleep a lot."

"Good. Whenever you can, my dear, do sleep..." She glanced down at Gustav in my arms, then extended hers. "Would you permit me to-?"

"Certainly," I replied, flustered by her compliments on Gustav and myself.

"What a _doll_ ," she sighed, staring down at him with her features aglow. "You ought to watch out for him, my dear, he will use his beauty to his advantage eventually..."

She talked for an hour, with little moments where she would ask me questions, and I would reply, and she would continue talking. It was welcome for a tired brain to hear such kind words from a woman who understood. I even managed to pose a few questions about Gustav that she was only too happy to answer.

I only had her company for an hour, though. When she left I felt hollow inside. I had forgotten what it was to have a friend- a true friend- and I had a sudden, desperate need for one, preferably her. She seemed to like me.

After she left, I asked Erik how he knew her.

"She brought flowers to my doorstep when I was first arranging the house," he explained absentmindedly, as he was organizing papers. "She had heard, somehow, that I was married and wanted to welcome us. I informed her I was only engaged, but she insisted I take them anyway, as they would make a good centerpiece for the dining room table. Then she tried to make conversation for a whole hour before I got rid of her... but I needed someone to stay with you, and she was only too eager to help a new mother. She has many children of her own, and her husband is never home, so she gets lonely."

"You learned all that after an hour trying to get rid of her?"

"She talks far more than a woman- a person- should."

"Well..." I swallowed. "Erik, I want to be friends with her. Good friends."

He paled. "I... I don't think you would like her very much once you spoke with her longer. She talks too much."

"I enjoy that-"

"And she hardly has any time on her hands, what with all her children-"

"How old are they?"

"The youngest is two, I believe, and the oldest is sixteen. She has five. No time at all-"

"How old is she?"

"Around thirty, so much older than you. I doubt you would get along well-"

"Erik, I want a friend," I pleaded. "You told me you would do anything to make me happy... Well, I want a friend."

"You wouldn't like her."

"Let me decide that. Don't you want me to learn from a woman who has raised that many children, anyway? And you said she was lonely before."

"She has all her children with her-"

"Not the ones in school. And I can help her-"

"She has a nursemaid-"

"Erik, you promised!" I said tearfully. "Y-you're a liar, still? You would deprive me of a friend?"

I began to sob, quite overwhelmed by being denied, once again, something I sorely wanted and that ought to be my right. He rushed to comfort me.

"Of course you can have a friend," he insisted. "Don't cry, I didn't mean you couldn't have a friend, simply that you might want a _different_ one."

"Why do you lie so much?" I sniffled.

"I didn't lie, my dear, not once today, not today. And if it will make you happy, you can call on her the moment you feel well enough."

He dabbed at my tears with a handkerchief. I inhaled shakily, quite stunned.

"I have a friend?" I whispered, once I had collected myself.

"If you like her..."

"I do... Thank you... Thank you. I ought to thank her as well, though." I sniffled again. "Could you get me some flowers when I go see her?"

"If it will make you happy."

"Very happy..." I smiled weakly. "Now I can have two friends."

"Two?"

I nudged him. "You, silly."

"Ah..." The thought had not even struck him. "Do you want to come downstairs now?"

"I ought to try and get dressed, clean myself up a bit. I'm such a mess right now."

"You're beautiful."

"With my emotions, I mean... but thank you." I glanced over at Gustav. "Would you take him down with you?"

"Don't you need help dressing?"

"Well, let me see."

I slid out of bed. My whole lower body was in a dull pain, but I managed to get to my feet just fine. My stomach tightened, causing me to wince for a moment.

"Maybe help getting dressed wouldn't be the worst idea," I told him. "Where is one of my dresses from two months ago? That should do."

"The blue?"

"I think a nice green would be more fitting for the holidays."

"You look best in blue," he stated, "but whatever you want to wear."

"Oh, fine, the blue. Then I can match Gustav's hat."

He went to get the dress out of my closet. "Did you knit it?"

"I did," I said proudly, "and out of the softest yarn you bought for me. Isn't he adorable in it? I read in a book that baby's head has to be kept warm, and also I feel like it protects him a little." I wrapped his little fist about my finger. "He's so fragile..."

Erik retrieved the dress from my closet. I found a rip on the hem that had gone unnoticed until then, but I told him I wouldn't mind sewing it up. He protested, but relented. I had him leave for a moment so I could get in my underthings, then he assisted with the rest, as I found myself still exhausted. My hands quaked with fatigue.

"Are you quite all right?" he asked. "You still seem ill from having the baby."

"I talked to her about it. She told me it's normal, everything I'm feeling."

His eyes grew unfocused with thought.

"Let's go downstairs," I offered. "Maybe do a puzzle together?"

He agreed.

We brought Gustav down in his bassinet. I held him on the sofa, and Erik insisted I remain there to rest. He opened the jigsaw puzzle for me to amuse myself with while he made my breakfast. I didn't even touch the pieces, though, as I was enamored with Gustav again. He attracted my gaze like nothing else. How could something be so beautiful?

I fed him there when he woke, but he wasn't very interested in it, more in yawning and wrinkling his forehead. Erik brought me my breakfast once I had buttoned my dress back up. He ate with me on the sofa, then went to sit at the piano and play for me. I requested a few carols to sing along to, but he had to find the music he had brought in order to accompany me. He could not play them by heart as he could with most things.

"Gustav likes the music," I informed him.

He turned around excitedly. "He does?"

"I think so. He's not crying, so he must like it."

"Oh... I thought you meant he had smiled or something of the sort."

"He only smiles in his sleep... Would you play a bit more? Do you mind it-?"

"Mind playing music? Who do you think I am?"

"Oh, I was just being polite... Just one more carol, though, then we ought to start this puzzle together."

He nodded in agreement. I lied back on the sofa a bit, cradling Gustav in my arm. He was so terribly small. It gave me this overwhelming desire to protect him in any way I could. He had not been in the world an entire day yet and already I was willing to give my life for him, or even the life of another should mine not be enough.

Erik put away his music and set a cushion down by the coffee table so I could sit comfortably. I started sorting the pieces to one of two jigsaw puzzles he had bought. This one had the image of an exotic bird in the center in the midst of a dense forest. I glanced up and found Erik had left the room for some reason. By the time I heard his footsteps returning, I had arranged all the pieces in two neat piles.

He sat down on the other side of the table. We started on the puzzle. He had put together the entire bird before I had completed half the border, and it frustrated me, childishly so, but it did. I found my face suddenly flushed with heat as I squinted at the piece in my hand.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked.

"Fine... but... could you go a little slower, do you think?"

"I can leave the rest for you if you want."

He glanced over at Gustav, still fast asleep.

"Yes, that's fine," I replied. "Do you want to hold him?"

Erik didn't even answer, simply scooped him up from his cradle and went to sit on the sofa behind me. I smiled as I continued the puzzle.

"I'm glad you like holding him so much," I said. "It will be nice to have another pair of arms, I'm sure."

He was silent as I started putting the bird he had connected inside the frame. Then there were the corners around the bird that were a pure shade of green, and these I needed to fill. It was then that I realized how tired I was, as I found a piece I knew fit in a place, but it refused to go. I was perplexed. For a moment, I set it aside, then picked it up again to try anew, and it refused no matter which way I turned.

I suddenly began to cry. I rubbed at my eyes in confusion at why I was crying because of a _puzzle_. How silly I was!

"Christine," Erik said hurriedly. "Is it upsetting you so?"

"I'm just tired," I replied. "I-I think I'm just tired... Oh, won't you help me?"

"Of course, yes... but he just woke, so someone ought to hold him."

"Just set him in his bassinet," I sniffled, trying to shove the piece into place.

"Why can't you hold him?"

"Because I don't want to!"

"Why on earth not? Why are you so upset?"

"Would you just figure out where this piece goes for me?"

He sighed as he set Gustav in his bassinet. "All right. Let me see it... There's no need to cry over this-"

"You think I want to be crying over this?" I demanded, rubbing my arm across my face with anger. I held the piece out to him.

"Where were you trying to put it?"

"I don't know anymore," I replied, planting my forehead on the coffee table. "I don't know."

"Here, here, look!" he told me, gesturing to the puzzle. "It's all fixed. No more crying."

"My stomach hurts..."

"Your stomach hurts? How long has it been hurting?"

"For a while, but not like this... I feel dizzy..."

"Do you need a doctor?"

I kept my head on the cool surface of the coffee table. "No... no, I'm fine..."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure-?"

"Maybe if you were _quiet_ I would be."

He sat back in confusion. Guilt added to my already writhing stomach.

"I need to get a doctor," he said. "Something could have happened with the birth-"

"I just need rest-"

"Do you not understand how serious this is?" he demanded, rising. "You shouldn't be experiencing stomach pains and dizziness days after giving birth! That means something is wrong, so I need to get a doctor now. I'll take Gustav with me."

"Erik, listen to me!" I insisted. "I am fine! The midwife said I would be bleeding and in pain for a few days so this is perfectly normal! Would you listen to me for once in your life and cease acting like you know everything?"

I started sobbing again. He picked up Gustav from his bassinet.

"D-do you want to hold him now?" he asked. "To calm you?"

I looked over at him, my vision blurred with tears. "Maybe I should try to feed him... the midwife said I ought to try a lot... b-but that hurts, t-too..."

"Does everything hurt? I can get you some laudanum."

I nodded. "Yes, I think that might be a good idea. I don't know why I didn't simply ask for that... thank you."

He handed Gustav to me. By the time he returned with a tonic, I had settled, and so had my stomach. I downed the tonic and went to lie down on the sofa with Gustav on my chest. I fell asleep in moments.

A doctor arrived on our doorstep later that day, despite my protests. He examined me, said I was in fair health, then asked Erik a few questions about me. After this, he asked, with skepticism, if I had rested properly after the birth.

"How long ago was it?" he asked. "Two weeks?"

"Three days," Erik replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Three days."

"You let her come downstairs after three days? She ought to be in bed for at least four. Tell me she hasn't left the house, at least."

"Of course not, she's been ill," Erik said irritably. "What does it matter, anyway, if she is in bed all day? She can't stand being cooped up. It's much better for her health if she can come downstairs and walk around a bit."

"Are you a doctor, monsieur? She has to rest for an entire week, if not more-"

"Is my wife ill or not?" he demanded. "I brought you here to help her, not criticize her care!"

"I meant no disrespect, monsieur. I understand you are very concerned about your wife... Nothing seems to be wrong with her. Women are often given to small fits of anger or sadness after a birth, but if she continues having them for weeks on end, then we can consider hysteria. Many have difficulty adjusting after birth, but she seems to be acting normally for the time. The only concern I truly have for her are the stomach pains. It could be an issue with her gallbladder. That can occur after a birth for women. If her pains continue, then you will need to take her in for surgery."

I blanched. "I-I hope that isn't the case."

"It's a very simple procedure, madame," the doctor replied kindly. "The pain hardly ever goes away entirely, but surgery can help remove the stones that have formed, which greatly eases it. Plenty of people have it done every year..." He turned to Erik. "Do you have any more questions, monsieur?"

"No."

"Then I shall be going. Send for me if her pains increase, or if in a few weeks she continues having nervous fits."

He shut his black bag and left. Erik muttered something under his breath about him. I swallowed uneasily.

"Y-you don't think I'll have to have surgery," I asked, "d-do you?"

He turned to me. "I hope not, but it's not so terrible if you do. Trust me... But let me know how you feel. Don't hide anything."

"I won't... I doubt I even could..."


End file.
